


Of Scarlet and Emerald

by autumnamberleaves



Category: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling
Genre: Gen
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2012-12-23
Updated: 2014-08-03
Packaged: 2017-11-22 02:06:23
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 11
Words: 31,385
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/604624
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/autumnamberleaves/pseuds/autumnamberleaves
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>A pair of shoes, a set of mittens. How are two seemingly mundane items going to change the lives of both a snarky man and a troubled child?</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Simple Gifts

Darkness swirled as the young child stirred in his closet. The little one’s grime-covered face, gave testimony to the boy’s miserable existence. A child of nine, yet not a child, not where it mattered. Nine years of darkness, save for his one light; his mother. Soon his light would be extinguished forever. Coughing into his hand, he shuddered as the silence gave way to the loud boom of his tormentor.

“Boy, you get yourself in here right now!” If his room had windows, the child was sure that they would have broken in a desperate attempt to flee from the very sound. Sighing, he brushed off his jeans as best he could and tiptoed to the room where not only his tormentor was, but also his savior. The room, though the only one that had painted and fixed up reeked of a most foul substance, looming death.

“Yes sir?” he asked as he stared at his source of light, his savior in the midst of her own losing battle. He did not dare to look at the dark-haired man standing so close to him that that his breath tickled the back of his neck, sending an unwanted chill spiraling down his spine. His mother was the safe one, the one who loved him.

“Go down to the store and steal me a whiskey. You and the likes of you are going to be the death of me. Your witch of a mother didn’t tell me she was a freak and passed her freakiness to a child I sired. Now she’s going to die and leave me with you, probably even tonight.”

With each word, his father’s voice grew edgier, more and more dangerous. The child chanced one more look at his fading angel before he practically ran to his room. Sighing again, he tugged on his brown coat before pausing a moment and walking to his mattress and running his hand over it. Finding the slit of the fabric, he pulled out a small pouch, hiding it in the only intact pocket the jacket had. Wasting no more time, the slight black-haired child escaped his home. He hoped that this would not be the time that he would get caught stealing. He hated the whole business but valued his life more. He knew what would happen if he disobeyed.

The store was a couple miles from his house, a distance that normally did not matter to him as the constant work he was forced to endure kept him fit although the bruises he sustained did not help in the least. However, that day it had snowed. Big fat flakes swirled down, turning his dark hair a silvery white. It was almost impossible to continue on as the wind and mounds of snow worked their forces against him, but he knew he had to keep walking. If he stopped and turned back even his angel wouldn’t be able to save him from his father’s ire. An hour of diligent persistence was rewarded when he finally spied the sign proclaiming, “Dawson’s General.” The store carried practically everything, and he would be able to get the item of his father’s addiction if he was careful enough, maybe even buy that one final item that he had been saving up for weeks. During the few hours a day where he was not either taking care of his mother or spending so-called “quality time” with his father, he had completed odd jobs in the neighborhood, saving up a bit of money. He was a wizard, but as he lived in a non-magical residence, the muggle money would suffice.

Walking into the slightly old building, he noted that the alcohol section was crowded with customers no doubt stocking up on “Christmas cheer.” He perked up a bit as he decided to delay his task of sneaking a bottle or two into the insides of his coat, and instead found himself face-to-face with a pair of shiny scarlet dress shoes for a woman. His mother adored the color red and she would look so pretty. They were shoes fit to meet Jesus in. Obnoxious Christmas music filtered in from the background, hoping to entice the shopper into purchasing more, but the child grunted at the happiness the music implied.

Grabbing the correct size, he cradled them to his chest as he fought the crowd and stepped in line. He just had to get home soon and give his mother them. She would need them soon he feared. The line was long, and it would be a while before his turn. He found himself pacing around, nervously fingering the little pouch in his pocket. Unnoticed by the little child, a man with raven hair and his son stepped in line behind him. He did not see the impatient looks emitting from the man or the stark contrast between the clean-cut boy and himself.

Finally it was his turn; he set the shoes on the counter and pulled out his little pouch. He had visited the store before and knew the shoes would be nine pounds. They had been that price for a couple weeks, and he counted on it to be the same price. The cashier worked like a well-oiled machine, having had fallen into a monotonous routine that retail employees found themselves displaying during the hectic Christmas season. The slightly balding man bagged the precious gift.

“That will be twelve pounds, please,” the man announced. Gaping, the child stared up at the worker hoping that he had heard incorrectly. He gave an involuntary shudder as he began to speak, praying that it was simply a miscommunication.

“Sir…the price was nine pounds last week…” He bit his lip in shame, as he would never be able to afford his mother’s gift at the current price. He wanted to be strong but found that his bravery was wavering. He carefully dumped his bulging bag of pence. Almost panicking, he counted the coins, hoping that he had miscounted earlier and in fact would be able to buy the shoes.

“I’m sorry son, but you don’t have enough, the price changed two days ago. Got to make some money somehow, but perhaps you still have some coins that fell into your pocket?”

Despite having had a look of indifference only moments before, the shop worker found himself pitying the small refugee of a child. The lad was small for his age and not a spot was found on his face that wasn’t dirty. The way the child had acted hinted that the shoes were no ordinary Christmas gift. He silently hoped there would be at least this one small miracle for the boy; he looked as if he needed several. The little boy's chin trembled as thin fingers dug in his hopelessly empty pocket, praying to find something, he found nothing. Against his will, a tear began snaking down his cheek, the salty liquid mixing with the dirt from his face to create a polluted stream.

“I’m such a loser, can’t even afford a simple present for my mum. Dad’s right, I am a freak. I just got to get these shoes. She needs them. Stupid, stupid, stupid!”

A slight cough interrupted his rambling. Frowning, he turned and noticed for the first time, the tall man with spiky black hair and his son. Any other time he would have been disgusted at the identical looks of pity they wore. He almost hated himself, but he forced out the words he never thought he’d say as cast his eyes to the floor.

“Sir, I don’t know what to do! I gotta buy these shoes for my mum! I had enough money, but then they went off sale and now I don’t and my mum needs them! She’s really sick and Father says she’ll die really soon. She used to be beautiful, but then she got ill and with these shoes, she’ll look so pretty for Jesus! What am I going to do?”

To his embarrassment the lone tear became the first of many as both strangers looked on. The man’s face grew soft as he gave the lad a reassuring squeeze on the shoulders and quickly handed the clerk the rest of the money. A peculiar feeling came over the boy as his normally somber face lit up, and he smiled through his tears. He took the shoes from the clerk and looked back at his rescuer. “Thank you…so much.” 

He turned and practically ran out of the store. Neither the snow nor the biting wind, not even the bruises upon his back could stop him as he skipped the distance to the shack his family lived in. Not until he was half-way home did he realize that he had not lifted the whisky.

Severus Snape hated Christmas. The entire staff at Hogwarts School of Witchcraft and Wizardry knew this. The students knew it, too, but not even the Gryffindors were brave enough to mention it, as they knew from experience what angering the snide professor would do, using their small brains for once to decide that it wasn’t worth the risk.

He hated everything to do with Christmas, aside from the color green. He despised the carols, the gaudy decorations displayed on the hundreds of trees found in the castle; he hated the laughter of children. Most of all, he hated the color red. Presents also found their way on his loathe list along with stores near the Christmas holiday. So when he found himself at a muggle store upon the request of Albus Dumbledore, it was safe to say that it would not be a pleasant day for him, nor for the employees who had the misfortune of working that shift.

Professor Dumbledore had asked him to buy a battery-run television set of all things. The Headmaster claimed that it was to aid the Muggle Studies professor when explaining such muggle novelties. However, Snape was of the opinion that like most everything the Headmaster did, it was only a cover story. He would bet his last galleon that he would find Albus merrily watching some inane television show, perhaps knowing the headmaster, a children’s cartoon. Why he, Severus, was assigned to the task, he did not know, but rather than question his employer’s motives, he agreed having hoped that the errand would not take all day.

Christmas 1989 was quickly approaching; the last of the brilliant autumn leaves having dulled to a mere brown. The stores bustled with harried customers trying to find the perfect gifts for their darling families. After a bit of walking, the Potions’ Master a rundown building that self-proclaimed to have the best prices in Britain. The snarky man highly doubted the slogan was truthful, but as he did not care about the cost, seeing as the money would come out of the school fund he settled for the store.

Like most mum-and-pop stores, this establishment carried a bit of everything that a person could possibly want or need. Severus paused only a moment before he walked to an aisle that looked to have electronics. He found a small selection of battery-operated televisions, dubbed “camp tellys,” and selected a random one that boasted that it was “in color.” He did not know what the big deal of that was; the boxes that consumed so many families’ attention had been in color since before he had been born. Severus dared not question the Headmaster though. After all, Dumbledore had saved him from a horrid fate.

Having picked up the lightweight telly, he headed to the front of the store to where the registers were located. With Christmas coming soon, this was a difficult task, as an overabundance of customers combined with much more merchandise than normal crowded the walkway. He was almost to the registers when he nearly fell to the ground. Severus prided himself on being attentive to details and could only blame his momentary lack as being blinded by the overwhelming red. Red, always red, how he hated it. Looking down he saw what he had stumbled over. A little boy who seemed to swim in his clothes was looking at Snape with a look he knew all-too well from his students. Fear.

“I’m sorry sir! I’ll get out of your way. Sorry!” the child muttered as he stared with wide eyes at the professor. The little boy stood up and picked up the lone item he had been clutching, a pair of emerald green mittens, which had come from a display not a foot away. Severus stood watching as the child longingly replaced the mittens on the rack. The Potions’ Master stared at the child’s reddened, sore hands. Cuts adorned them as well as dried, caked blood. In a rare display of curiosity, he spoke to the waif.

“Why are you putting them back? It looks like your hands could use them to fight off the chill.” There was something odd about this boy, something that Severus could not quite place. The little boy reminded him of another child from long ago. Sniffling a bit into the fold of his arm, the child seemed reluctant to answer. Finally after nearly a minute, a tiny voice spoke.

“Freaks don’t earn any money, freaks don’t get nice things.” The boy stepped back from the older man and walked away.

Severus frowned in understanding and sighed as he finally reached the checkout lane. The man could not help but remember a Christmas when he had been desperate for a simple item. He had made good time and was the only customer at the moment. With ease, the transaction was complete and Severus found himself in the blustery cold once more. Before he could leave muggle England though, he had one final task to complete. It only took a couple of minutes before the spy located the boy. The lad was shivering from the cold and his black hair hung to his head, wet from snow.

“Boy, I think you could use these,” the normally snarky man handed the child the pair of mittens that the child had adored. Watching the boy’s face light up, the man who was a stranger to happiness, felt a smile tug at his lips. He fought it off though, and reached into his pockets, pulling out a medium-sized jar. He handed that as well to the amazed boy.

“This is a simple lotion; it will cure your hands and keep them healthy.” The child stood stunned, and Severus began to walk off, but before he walked a yard away, he heard a little voice.

“Thank you, sir, thank you!” With that, the child bolted and ran in the direction of a middle-class neighborhood. Severus replaced his mask as he paused for a moment and then promptly apparated near Hogwarts.


	2. Yuletide Feuds

The wind whistled as snowflakes delicately danced to the ground, applying another layer to the already white blanket. In the distance, young slightly off-key voices sang verses of "Jingle Bells." Other children contented themselves by building snowmen and forts, yet another group engaged themselves in a fierce snowball fight. The latter of the groups was the one that held Severus Snape's eye. Bundled almost completely in red and gold, colors that only spelled trouble, were a group of Gryffindor students.

The only thing that brought him any relief was that Potter was not part of this group; he wasn't even outside. If Severus had to be roped into supervising brats during Christmas vacation, at least the Golden Boy was someone else's problem. It was only at the closure of the boy's first semester and already he had flown headfirst into idiotic heroic acts many times. Snape had known the child would be trouble right from the Sorting Feast.

"Potter, Harry." Professor McGonagall commanded, drawing everyone's attention to the raven-haired child clambering up to the stool. Potter-Severus refused to call him Harry, seemed smaller than his other year mates and his face was scrunched up in a scowl upon eying the potions master, he was just like his good-for-nothing dead father. Potter's eyes, though hidden behind hideous round frames were narrowed into slits. Snape watched as Minerva placed the hat on the brat's head. Severus expected the hat to bellow Gyffindor!" as soon as it was touching the child's hair as it had done for his own Slytherin godson. No son of JAMES Potter would be placed into any other house. He scoffed, Potter would probably kill himself if he was placed in SNAPE'S domain, not that was even likely. The split-second that Severus expected the hat to deliberate on the brat's housing instead turned into several lengthy minutes. Sighing in annoyance, he sneered at the boy, realizing as with most of the Great Hall that the boy was conversing with the aged hat. It must have shocked everyone as they leaned forward in their seats in a futile attempt to eavesdrop on the apparent conversation the boy was having.. Since when did the hat allow conversing? It would do that the first child that had the audacity to argue was Potter. The spoiled prince was probably rooting for his special house, "The House of Potter." Snape snorted in directive.

After at least five minutes, the hat exclaimed with what seemed to be a sigh, "Gryffindor!" At long last, the boy hopped down from the stool and attempted to scurry to his new house, he glanced back at the Staff Table, uncertainly, only to immediately contort his face as if in pain. The Slytherin Head of House nearly laughed at the claim the boy seemed to be making; Severus knew all too well that most of the students hated him, but none had had the audacity to claim that by merely looking at him, they were subjected to unbearable pain. A walking cruciatus curse, what a laugh. Finally, the young lion made his way to his housemates and shortly thereafter the feast begun. Sneaking a glance at the bane of his teaching existence, he noted with superior glee of how little the brat was serving himself and eating. Mere bits not fit for a mouse, let alone a growing adolescent boy. It was just like Potter to refuse to eat good food, ha, he probably had his meals served to him on golden platters. The child was not bothering to use his utensils correctly, he probably did not even know how to as he was definitely fed by his servants.

Blinking back to the present, Severus groaned when he saw the bane of his teaching existence along with the Know-it-All exiting the doors and heading towards a fresh mound of snow. Snape looked the two children over to make sure they were not dunderheaded enough to not bundle up well. He'd dance a jig on the Staff Table in front of the entire school before any of his colleagues accused him of allowing the ‘precious' children to get sick.

He expected to see them both dressed head-to-toe in their house's colors. Surprisingly enough, Granger was clad in a heavy blue coat with matching gloves. Potter, he noticed, was wearing an ancient brown coat that was obviously six sizes too big for the small-framed boy. The sleeves, too long for his arms, covered up his hands and Severus could only guess that he was wearing some sort of hand protection. Snape never assumed anything, though, it was far too dangerous as a Potions Master, teacher, and even more so as a spy. Sighing, he trudged through the snow, occasionally glaring at students to herd them out of his way. Finally, he reached two-thirds of the Golden Trio.

"Potter!" Snape snarled as he watched the boy jump a foot off the ground.

"Yes sir," It was obvious that the boy had no idea what sin he had committed. Snape almost laughed, Potter had already served so many detentions that he had come to expect them.

"Let me see your hands!" Severus' voice would have brokered no arguments from his Slytherins or even Ravenclaws and Hufflepuffs, but of course the Gryffindors thought they were above the rules.

"Why?" Potter shoved his arms into the enormous pockets. Granger grabbed onto him and shook her head. Sometimes Snape thought the girl really did have some useful brains in her head. Three friends with one brain, if this was what the Wizarding World had to look forward to, then they were in for a rude awakening.

"Fifteen points from Gryffindor for arguing with a teacher! If you don't want to make it thirty, I suggest that you show me your hands now!" Snape snorted with pleasure at the haste with which the child pulled his arms out of his coat. Severus was momentarily surprised after the boy had finally listened to him.

"Green? Why would a Gryffindor wear Slytherin Green mittens of all things? Surely, such an act is treason to your loyal fans. Did you think that it would be a good prank, Potter, to steal from a child in my house? Thought you would get some laughs, did you?" Severus's breath formed a white ring in front of Harry's ashen face.

Harry backed up as he shook his head, "No, I didn't steal them, honest. They're mine! They were a gift!" He looked at Hermione for help, hoping that she would be able to convince the snarky man who hated him and looked for any excuse to cause him trouble.

Before Hermione could answer, Snape stopped her. "I'm going to look into this matter. If any of my students are missing a pair of mittens, I can assure that you will be in detention for the rest of the Christmas Holidays for both stealing and lying to me!" With that said, he turned and made certain that his robes menacingly billowed after him like lackeys to the villain, the way he favored it.

The Potions Master had applied a charm to repel any snow on his robes and person, so he was midnight black as always. He stalked to his previous post, hoping to catch at least one student doing something to warrant a detention. Out of the corner of his eye he spied the youngest Weasley boy walking out of the door and over to his friends. Almost immediately he heard the strains of an argument brewing. The spy stepped closer and listened in to the pre-teens.

"Harry what are you doing wearing green mittens? Slytherin Green at that? People are going to think you're a traitor for the enemy house! Here, Hermione, change them to red!" Ron gestured to the mittens, which still enveloped Harry's hands.

The raven-haired child's face shaded and he scowled. "No." Harry's voice was steady, giving meaning to his words. He stared through his fringe at Ron. "I like them green. They will stay that color." Harry squared his shoulders as he looked from Hermione to Ron, daring them to disagree.

"Of course Harry, if you like the mittens green, then they are fine as they are." Hermione immediately supported Harry, not surprising Severus at all. Though he would never in a million years admit it to the girl, she had a level head to match her brains on her shoulders.

"But Hermione, they're Slytherin!" Ron, proving he was the dunderhead that Severus always knew he was, continued to argue. His face was starting to match his bright red hair as his eyes narrowed. He turned to Harry, and Severus waited with almost baited breath. Maybe Weasley would do something stupid and Snape would simply have to assign a detention.

"Leave it." Harry's voice now carried an edge. His emerald eyes flashed a warning that brokered no misunderstanding. Potter seemed to tense up as he shuffled an impatient foot in the burrowing snow. "I'm going inside. Maybe I'll get a head start on homework, surprise the professors for once."

Granger, apparently seeing the excuse for what it was, quickly followed the raven-haired Gryffindor like the puppy dog she was. "I'll help you. Ron stay here and pummel some snowballs with your goofball brothers." With that, she turned on the spot as if disapparating and jogged the distance towards Harry.

Severus smirked as he observed Ron's face flare up as the tempered child fought back with a measly, "Sure! Go do the greasy git's homework for all I care!" Ah, here was Snape's cue line.

Severus crossed the distance with the finesse he was well known for and sneered, "Twenty points from Gryffindor for slandering a teacher and detention tonight. I have some lovely toads for you to disembowel." Severus' day was now complete.

***

An hour later, Severus eased himself into his high-backed winged chair. It had been an exhausting day, not a vacation in the least. He was free though for the rest of the day until after dinner to supervisor Weasley's detention but his mind could not rest. To his disgust he found his mind wandering to Potter of all people. The boy had been all but animalistic about mere mittens. It was a puzzling behavior for a pampered prince. Not to mention the fact they were Slytherin Green. Snape knew the boy was telling the truth, that much was evident in the child's actions towards his best friend, and they were his. The man could not get it out of his mind, there was something so familiar and yet he couldn't grasp it. Sneering, he arose and briskly walked to his kitchen, determined to put Potter out of his mind with a good cup of Oolong.

***

Six hours later, Ron finally dragged his tired body back to his common room. He hoped that Hermione and Harry were waiting for him, but he quickly concurred that that was not the case. Instead, the fire-headed boy spied a familiar pair of green mittens among the sea of red that were drying on the fireplace mantle. Head spinning, he began to get an idea, and he quickly set quill to parchment. Twenty minutes later, the letter was complete and Ron took the offending mittens and tossed them into the inferno of flames.

The flames at first licked at the unexpected treat, dancing around in a mesmerizing fashion, as if they were a child testing out a pool for the first time. Finally, a brave flame took hold of the mittens and ate hungrily, allowing the rest of the flames to partake of the meal. With each minute that passed, Ron's emotions swirled. He knew he probably shouldn't have done what he had, but he had been so mad. Mad at Harry for wearing them in the first place, mad at Hermione for taking up for the "famous one," and especially outraged at Snape for the detention. Why had Harry been wearing that color anyways, his friend must have known it would only cause him trouble. Ron had been taught by his siblings, by his parents really, but they would deny it, that that color meant Slytherin so that color was evil. Then there was the way that Harry had practically hugged his mittens to his chest, like a child with a favorite teddy or blanket. Ron had outgrown his stuffed animal years ago and he was considered the immature one, not Harry. Ron sighed, he still felt a bit guilty but he knew that Harry would one day thank him.

***

An hour before curfew the portrait yawned and admitted a pair of exhausted children. Though it had only been an excuse, Hermione and Harry had ended up studying in the library, completing several essays.

"So when Neville swished his wand to locate Trevor, he accidently transfigured Professor Flick into a toad, I don't even want to know how many points Gryffindor lost!" Harry finished as he and the bookish girl stepped into the common room and spotting the third of the trio.

Awkward silence ensued as the three friends shifted from one foot to the other, not really knowing what to say to the other. Harry glanced around the room, anything to keep his eyes off of his best friend. He had learned at an early age that one never looked an adversary in the eye if he wanted to survive. Suddenly, as if dawn had broken the horizon, he looked at the endless sea of red and gold mittens lining the hearth, he peered and walked towards the pile, his first present was missing.

"Ron. Where. Are. My. Mittens?" Harry's anger quickly bubbled through him, spilling over the top. It was then that he noticed that the other boy held a small scroll in his lap. Ron stood up and thrust it into Harry's hands, having the semi-grace to at least look shame-faced.

"Here, Mum sent you a note saying she'll send you some proper Gryffindor ones. Now you won't have to make do with those old Slytherin ones."

Whatever positive reaction Ron had been expecting, he did not receive as his friend's face turned an intense red. "Where are my old ones?" Harry's voice was as dangerous as Gryffindor's mascot. Ron's automatically gazed to the flames of the fireplace, the emerald-eyed boy followed. Ron gulped as Harry rushed on "You burnt them? You had no right to! They were my first gift I remember ever receiving, and you thought you could just destroy them because they were green!" Ron noticed that Harry seemed to have forgotten he was a wizard, he balled his hand up into a fist and would have broken the his nose if it hadn't been for Hermione's quick thinking and grabbing Harry's arm.

"No, Harry! It's not worth it. You'll get detention if anyone finds out about this," the girl murmured as Ron watched her let Harry go. Immediately Ron moved his mouth to speak but his best friend stalked into his dormitory. Ron had been feeling guilty at what he had done but then he decided that fear was a much better emotion as he noticed the witch returned her eyes to Ron. "As for you, I think this will do." She whispered a spell that Ron couldn't hear and suddenly he found himself prone-eagle on the floor frozen in place.

***

it was Christmas Eve, and once again the children frolicked in the snow. Snape found himself having been suckered into "guard duty" yet again and sighed as he watched the few students who had elected to stay the holidays at Hogwarts. The decorations adorned almost the entire castle, majestic works of gold, silver, green and red strung up like bows, candles burned in every window, tree and ceiling. Children who needed no sugar found plenty in the readily available cookies, cakes and candy that the house elves seemed to leave at every turn.

Today, something felt off. The hair on the nape of Severus' neck prickled. The spy hated not being able to anticipate whatever mess the students were getting into, so he resolved to uncover it. His eyes narrowed as he spotted Potter along with the insufferable bushy-haired girl. The clown of the group was once again nowhere to be seen.

Despite not being able to hear the conversation, Severus could tell that Granger was obviously upset at something, as was Potter. Only a few months into their school career and all the professors had learned to keep a keen ear and eye on the "Golden Trio," as they were prone to diving headlong into trouble. With that thought, the Potions Master could also see another clue. Though adorned in the worn coat, Potter seemed to be shivering and rubbing at his wind-bitten hands many times.

Severus rolled his eyes at the sight and then stared. The boy had no mittens on. He was probably hoping to get frostbitten and have more attention lavished on him. Well, Snape was not going to allow that to happen.

"Potter!"

"Yes, sir?" The minuscule child answered through a shiver.

"Where in the blazes are your mittens that you were oh so attached to merely two days ago? Did you decide that green was below you?" Snape sneered at the frightened boy.

"Noo..noo..sir. They got...well, someone thought they were trash, sir." The boy had the gull to claim. Ha, it was morel than likely the boy had been pressured to ditch them. Severus noticed the child skimming the white marshmallow ground. Pathetic boy couldn't even lie right!

"I see and as Weasley hasn't been part of your fan club for two days now, I assume he had something to do with this." Severus smiled sardonically as he watched the two lions gulp and Potter slowly nodded.

"He...thought that I was being a traitor, sir, because they were green." Though the child attempted to pass off the incident as the result of a childish scramble, the spy observed the brat's true sentiments.

"Well as that may be, you know that the Headmaster ruled that everyone be properly suited for the conditions so you best be in the castle by the time I finish speaking unless you'd like a detention. I do have some lovely snake brains that need pickling." Smiling with satisfaction, the sallow man watched both children dart into the school. As if in a race, the children ran and Severus snorted when the inevitable tumble occurred. Really, at eleven and twelve, the children know by now that you can't run in snow without consequences. If only he had a camera to catch the "Savior of the Wizarding World" lying clumsily in the snow, Rita Skeeter would have a field day.


	3. A Not So Silent Night

Harry stretched on his bed after having escaped to his little sanctuary thirty minutes prior. He had spent the time seething while trying to ignore the calmness that was attempting to soothe him. He watched flake after glistening flake of fresh snow fall outside his window. No, he refused to cool down.

Instead, Harry stood up and strode to the door. He knew that he might see Ron as he walked through the Gryffindor dormitory, but that was a chance he'd have to take. Ha, it might do his "friend" some good to be on the receiving end of his ire.

How could Ron be so dull? Harry had given more than enough clues that those mittens were special to him? Why had Ron been so oblivious? The stranger who gave him the gloves had been the first kind person he had met and had convinced him there were still pleasant people in the world. Without that single act of caring, Harry had no doubt that he would have turned bitter by now.

Since Harry had been lost in his thoughts, he didn't realize that he had already reached the common room. Seeing a crumbled shape on the floor, he walked closer. As he neared the odd shape, he realized that it was clad in a bulky sweater and worn jeans. The flaming red hair completed the ensemble. Ah, that's the revenge that Hermione probably set on the redhead. For once, Harry had no sympathy for Ron upsetting the young witch. Barely resisting the urge to lash out and kick the still but conscious form, he instead walked to the Fat Lady Portrait.

"Mighty late on Christmas Eve to be leaving the tower. Father Christmas won't be happy." Harry glared at the nosy picture but kept walking, his eyes determined.

In a soft voice, uncaring if the woman heard him or not, he whispered, "I don't believe in Father Christmas, I never have."

Aimlessly, the child meandered down the hallway to the stairs, not caring if a professor noticed him and took points. Snape could even catch him, and he wouldn't care. Harry had never felt so betrayed in his life; even the Dursleys' hadn't upset him nearly as much. He knew they didn't love or even like him, so their words of "affection" didn't matter to him.

He recalled the old saying about dogs about , "the bark being worse than its bite.," Well, the Dursleys' hadn't gotten that memo. Their bark was weak, but their bite was worse.

Shaking his head, he thought back to the problem at hand. Ron. The boy had been his first real friend his age, one whose family even loved him, Harry, the freak. He recalled the first time a few months ago that he had met him.

***

Harry struggled with his cart. Hagrid had picked him up from the Dursleys' home and had taken him to King's Cross Station, but neglected to actually take him to the platform. Recalling that his ticket said to board on Platform 9 ¾ , he glanced around and noticed nine and ten but no 9 ¾. Maybe he had read the boarding pass wrong.

He pulled the thin piece of paper from his overlarge trousers and read it again. 9 ¾ was bolded and Harry knew he was left with a problem. Perhaps it had all been a dream, or worse yet, a cruel joke, escaping the Dursleys and finding magic! But...no, Harry couldn't allow himself to think that. He had to believe it because if he didn't, there would be nothing left. No dreams of brighter tomorrows, just a dusty cupboard under the stairs. No merciful being to give him a present that to him embodied hope. Harry couldn't lose hope. He had to cling to it. As the tiny threads in his heart began to tear away, he heard a voice. Rather, he heard several voices.

"There are more muggles here every year!" A woman's voice full of exasperation, impatience and yet, love boomed.

Harry's ears prickled. Muggles! Hagrid had called non-magical people muggles! He took a tentative step to the group that he now saw consisted of a sea of red hair. Several of the children looked to be near his age, with two being identical twins. The youngest and the only girl of the group clung to her mother.

"Mama, can't I go, too?" The child whined as Harry slowly walked towards the group. The mother shook her head in the negative and declined the girl's request.

"Er...Hello, I was wondering how to get on Platform 9 ¾ but it doesn't seem like there is one." Harry awkwardly interjected, eyeing the rowdy lot. Well, most of the children seemed wild, save for one who looked upon his family with a coolness that was unmistakable.

"Oh, no problem, dearie. It's Ron's first time, too." The lady turned and addressed her brood, "Ok Percy first, then the twins and Ron, you're last!"

Harry watched the indifferent boy run towards the wall between the ninth and tenth platforms. Whereas Harry expected him to slam into the wall and receive a rather nasty headache, Percy simply disappeared. The young eleven year-old's stomach churned. What if his magic failed him, and he hit the wall? Wouldn't that surely aggravate his already injured body? He didn't have time to dwell on it as the two identical boys cast a glance on him.

"It's ok," one of the twins started.

"Doesn't hurt a bit," his twin continued as he nodded to his brother.

"You just run towards the barrier-" the first twin explained in a patient tone.

"-And your magic does the rest," the second boy finished.

Harry only nodded dizzily as he watched the identical boys race and vanish into the wall. The last child, the one that was apparently a first year as well, unlike his brothers, looked a bit nervous. Harry could tell though that no matter how nervous the redhead was, that he himself was much more so.

"Ok, Ron, your turn," The mother continued, stated as she ushered him forwards. The child, Ron, gulped and then ran full speed into the wall, blinking out of sight as his brothers had before him.

The lady focused on Harry again. "Love, it's your turn. Only two minutes before the train leaves so you best be going now. Remember, run into the wall. It won't hurt." The woman spoke to him as she laid her arms on him in a small reassuring hug.

Harry nodded his understanding as she let go of him and he backed up a couple of spaces to get a running start. He raced towards the barrier, his churning stomach now in knots. Doubts began to creep up into him again and he swallowed, trying to be brave. Not thinking about the wall, only running, he was surprised when he heard a small swoosh and then a chorus of young voices.

Sharpening his senses, he was surprised to see children frantically running around with trunks such as his. And the train! The locomotive was like none he had ever seen before. With the billowing smoke and the absolute majestic feel, it gave an air of being in an entirely different universe. Harry took a moment and realized that for all purposes, he was indeed in a different world.

Dragging his trunk up to the door and into the train, he paused at all the different compartments and the children. Students of varying backgrounds milled about, finding friends and seats. He walked farther, he spied a compartment empty, save for one of the boys he had just met, Ron.

"Hi, again. May I sit here?" Harry asked shyly.

Ron nodded his acceptance and stuck out his hand. "'Ello, I'm Ron, Ron Weasley. What's your name?"

The redhead scooted over to give Harry some room. Harry gratefully sat down. He hadn't expected to sit in the seat, freaks like him belonged on the floor, or so his relatives told him.

"I'm Harry...just Harry." He responded, remembering all too well the idolizing looks he had received when his last name was mentioned or his scar was seen.

It had been too much, going from one world that refused to positively acknowledge his very existence, to one that practically worshipped him. He watched with keen curiosity as Ron took a little sack from his bag. Upon closer inspection, he realized it was some sort of sandwich. The other child didn't look too pleased with the morsel, but held out a bit of the meal.

"Mum made us all ones to take on the train. It's a long ride, and she didn't want us to go hungry," he shrugged and chewed his piece.

Harry took it as a cue and nibbled at his section.

"Thanks," Harry ate slowly, trying to make sure he wouldn't throw it up upon swallowing. His relatives, never having bothered to give him much food, had offered him even less after Hagrid's departure. He was relieved when the small offering stayed in his tummy, though with a bit of protest.

The two preteens fell into a comfortable silence and startled when an elderly lady appeared at their door.

"Anything from the trolley?" Her voice was kind, not the authoritative kind like Mrs. Weasley or even the serious no-nonsense of the man who had given him his cherished mittens, but a sugary type of kind. Harry wasn't hungry. In fact, he was fairly sure that if he ate anything it would come right back up, but one look at his new friend told him the other child was starving and enviously looking at the offered sweets.

"Sure, we'll take the lot." Harry reached into his pocket and dug out some coins that Hagrid had termed galleons. Reaching out to the lady, he received the yummy-looking treats and handed them to the red haired boy. "Here you go."

Ron immediately stuffed a chocolate cake in the shape of a caldron in his mouth and nodded his thanks.

Harry smiled and reached up to wipe some sweat off his forehead. As he did the black locks covering the lightening bolt-shaped scar was exposed for a fraction of a second. The short amount of time that it took was enough that Ron had noticed his forehead and was staring.

"You're Harry...Potter!" Ron gaped like a fish as Harry flinched a little.

"Yes, but I'm just Harry, I don't remember any of it," Harry had no need to explain what the "it" was, Ron and everyone else in the wizarding world knew.

"But still...!"

Harry gave Ron a look that the other child seemed to realize it meant that that was the end of the discussion.

Ron nodded but before anything else could be said, they heard the door open.

A young girl with bushy brown hair stared at the two new friends. "Have either of you seen a toad? A boy our year is missing one."

***

Harry remembered the satisfaction that making a friend brought. Sure, Ron had been a little weird when he realized that Harry was "the-boy-who-lived," but he had gotten over it.

Darn it! Why had Ron done something so stupid? Harry didn't want to be mad at his first friend, but he found that he could scarcely help the feeling. Ron had done something so moronic, and Harry couldn't get himself to forgive the boy.

The young Gryffindor reached the stairwell and started the lengthy trek down. Despite his overall failure to care if he got caught, he was nonetheless relieved that he hadn't been. He just wanted some peace and quiet, a rarity in his dorm room. He needed a place to think. The library would be a good place to hide out; no one would think to look for him there.

With that thought in his mind, Harry walked with new resolve. The staircase was akin to an ever-moving maze. It never stayed in the same spot, so one would have to be careful while traveling on the magical stairwell. Harry knew all of the warnings, had even been nagged on by Hermione to "slow down" but he was too fed up to care all that much.

He ran with gusto, quickly clearing the seventh floor, then came to the sixth floor. The way he felt, he could run to the dungeons and back up to the tower and still have anger to fuel his energy. His too-large shoes flopped furiously, seemingly attempting to keep up with him.

That's when it happened. Harry had barely enough time to consider his dilemma as first his left shoe flung off his much smaller foot and he lost his balance, stumbling to the step below him. He felt a shift and realized with a start that the stairs had moved. Caught in the middle of the tumble, the child was unable to right himself before he was flung down the staircase several more steps down, his body slamming on each with jarring pain . Almost crying, he caught himself by his hands on the very last step, his body dangling in midair. Harry clawed at the edge, attempting to pull himself up. Meanwhile the stairwell kept misbehaving as it parted with its brother and moved to the left. The movement was too much for the small eleven-year old as he was flung in the air like an old forgotten ragged doll. Tears filled his eyes as he realized that he was fighting a losing battle as he was unable to force his hands to support his weight and pull him up. The Gryffindor was rarely afraid of anything, but he was deathly scared as he knew that falling six floors down to the ground would probably kill him. Funny, this wasn't how he had envisioned his death. He had thought that it would probably be from his "loving relatives," or the evil wizard known as Voldemort. Would anyone realize he was missing from the towers? How long would his body lay on the ground before anyone found him? Would anyone really care about him, not, the-boy-who-lived- but him, Harry? Would Dumbledore send the notice of his death to the Dursleys' via owl post or send someone to the family? No! he couldn't let himself think like that, he could get out of this mess but only if he kept a positive attitude. He furiously thought of anything that could help him. His wand? Harry tried to recall if it was where he could reach it. "Darn!" He shouted, realizing that he had stashed it in his back pocket. He should have listened to Hermione and bought a wrist holster, but no, his back pocket would be just fine. If Harry had a hand to spare, he would have slapped himself on the forehead for his bullheadedness. So his wand was not an option, if only he knew wandless magic, then perhaps he could do a charm but being a First Year, that was out of the question as well. He remembered that the pictures could talk and relay messages and thus help him. The raven-haired child scanned his line of vision but to his dismay, the only portrait housed a person who was off visiting another frame. Harry was out of ideas-and he was out of time as his arm sockets burnt with a fierce fire of having to support his whole body. His fingers strained with their undeserved burden. He recalled those disaster movies that Dudley was found of, with the victims falling to their deaths after trying to escape some ghastly ordeal; he never thought he'd ever relate to them. He was suspended in the air by the still-moving stairwell for several minutes, sweat dripping down his pale face and hands. He willed himself to stop sweating as the moisture was beginning to loosen his precarious hold on the cold step. It wasn't enough though.

First one finger slipped and he lurched, catching himself.

Then another.

Another.

Another.

And another.

He only had one hand left on the stair, his weight straining it. When the last of his fingers on his right hand had slipped off, his body had shifted left in surprise such a manner that he couldn't replace his other hand. One hand was the only thing keeping him from plummeting down to his death on the hard stone ground many floors below.

Harry clenched his teeth together, his whole body going rigid in an attempt to save himself. He denied himself the luxury of shutting his eyes, hoping that someone would come and see his plight. It was ironic, really, that not more than five minutes ago had prayed to be unseen, and now he was pleading to be noticed by someone.

An agonizing minute passed with Harry hanging to his life by five tiny fingers. That's when he saw the shadow, a dark figure with robes on. A professor. A potential savior.

Risking a bit, he craned his neck to the person. "Professor-" Harry's scream was cut short as pain shot through his forehead like a sledgehammer. "Help!" Harry rasped as his vision blurred and various colors danced in his eyes. His hand slipped.

So this was it, he was going to die. Die a horrible, painful death, he almost wished that if he had to die young, it could have happened when Voldemort had attempted to kill him and succeeded in murdering his parents. Then at least he would have died with people who had loved him, a death relatively pain free compared to this way. If he had died from the Aveda Kedavera cast on him, his younger self wouldn't have even known he was in mortal danger.

Harry recalled an adult he had seen in Surry describing a near-death experience who said that their whole lives had flashed before their eyes. The Gryffindor fleetingly remembered the events that had meant the most to him. Finally getting his Hogwarts Letter, escaping the Dursleys, meeting Hermione and Ron. Ron. Merlin, he wished he had forgiven the boy. Sure, Ron had been a right git, but it had been a mistake. If he had chosen to at least talk to the Redhead, he'd been nestled in his bed now, not rushing to his death. Harry finally allowed himself to howl like a deranged animal as the bitter salty tears drowned his face.

Plummeting like a muggle bullet, Harry's last thought was the bitter irony of "The-Boy-Who-Lived," becoming "The-Boy-Who-Became-A-Pancake."

A few suspended in-time moments later, his body crashed to the floor.

***

Severus Snape swiftly moved through the halls of the enchanted castle searching for prowlers of student or enemy nature. He knew the rumors that students whispered about him. To them he was a bat, a vampire who never slept.

It was true that the Potions Master didn't get as much sleep as most of the professors at the school, but his battle with insomnia was a never-ending struggle. The man's mind was too wound to sleep. This Christmas Eve was the worst in a long time.

Even after seeing Weasley squirm and gag dissecting snake brains, he had not been able to get the abominable Potter out of his mind. The boy almost drove him to drink as troublesome as he was! Yet, the raven-haired child really had not done anything...this time. Well, except being friends with Weasley, but that was neither here nor there.

Try as he might, he couldn't get those chapped hands out of his mind. Even if the miserable child did have his green mittens unceremoniously snatched from him, didn't the fool know enough about the weather to put on a different set? The spoilt prince was probably so accustomed to getting what he wanted when he wanted it, that he wouldn't settle for anything else.

Shaking his head in an attempt to clear it of all things Potter, he scanned the hallways of the esteemed school, hoping to find a student, preferably of Gryffindor nature out after curfew. For once, no one seemed to be roaming the hallways this night, lest fear of punishment on Christmas Day. Pity.

Severus steepled his fingers in frustration. Of course the students would be obedient little dogs on Christmas Eve but not the rest of the year. Shame, pickled pig feet would be a lovely present from his victims...er...students.

Snape went through a mental checklist. His own Slytherins were in bed, Ravenclaws and Hufflepuffs settled in the dormitories presumably asleep. That only left his favorite fresh meat, the Gryffindors. Gryffindors...Potter. DARN! Why did his brain keep wrapping around that wretched boy? Scowling, he walked to the corridor that would lead to the stairwell Minerva's students used to travel the seven flights to their dormitory.

Severus' obsidian eyes had long since gotten used to the dim lighting provided by the torches and plentiful Christmas candles. He was accustomed to the shadows that such lighting provided, the normal shapes of the suits of armor, the portraits, and the usual affair the castle was dressed in. He walked a few more paces to the entrance to the Grand Staircase only to see a shadowed lump. Frowning, he whispered a Lumos and crept closer.

The broken, bleeding body of Harry James Potter lay crumpled to the ground.


	4. The Night Before Christmas

Severus barely registered what he saw. His eyes were still adjusting to the dim light of his lumos. His mind refused to believe the sight before him. He could not be staring at the lifeless, bloodied, broken body of Potter. He could not be smelling the foul metallic odor of the boy's life blood. The child he had sworn to protect could not be dead, it was inconceivable.

Flicking his wand at two nearby torches, he watched as they brightened the corridor. Now the grotesque form was painfully clear to see. The Gryffindor was painted red from his head to his toes, pooling around him. His face, what was not covered in blood paled whiter than the snow outside. The small First Year's limbs stretched out unnaturally backwards. All of this was terrifying to the Potions-Master, but more horrifying was his neck and back. Potter's neck hung limply to the left and his back was wrenched.

Severus swore when Ha-Potters' face colored a deep purple, evidence of a struggle to get oxygen. He grabbed the child's wrist with one hand, the other he placed a mere centimeter above the eleven year-old's mouth. Sighing in relieve, he was glad to feel the faint stream of air and the thump-thump of the boy's heart. Both were weak, but nonetheless, present.

The Head of Slytherin didn't waste any more time before he aimed his wand and muttered a hurried Expecto Patronum. As the spell needed a happy memory to activate upon, he had half expected the incantation to fail for him. To his relief, the long ago memory of a better time with a young redheaded girl worked its magic. A wispy, silvery majestic doe appeared. "Go to Poppy, Albus, and Minerva, tell them that Potter fell from the stairwell and is critically injured!" He ordered the doe and it raced gracefully from the corridor. He reached into one of his massive pockets and retrieved a vial with a frothy aqua liquid inside.

As a Potions Master, he was used to carrying certain vials on his person. Working at a school, a magical one at that, a person could never be too cautious, so he always kept life-sustaining potions within easy reach. He knew that Potter was in no shape to swallow the Breath of Life Elixir he had selected, so he spelled it into the boy's stomach. The boy would soon be doped on all sorts of potions, but that was the best he could do at the moment.

Harry desperately needed a Blood Replenisher, but first he would have to have the injuries sealed. Peering closer, Snape realized that the unconscious preteen was trembling in a shiver. Not wanting the raven-haired child to go into shock, Severus tore off his black outer robe and arranged it carefully around the child. Now all he could do was wait. He did not dare try and move the child to the Hospital Wing. Though he was thoroughly competent in his magic, one slip up and Potter would die. No, he would wait until Madam Pomfrey could assist.

He did not have to wait long as his keen ears picked up on the faint sound of shoes pounding the stone floor. Three sets of feet click-clumped from various directions, each growing louder by the millisecond. After what seemed like hours but in reality was only minutes the pounding stopped only to be replaced with frantic voices.

"Oh Merlin! How did this-?"

"Minerva, get Filius and seal off the staircase. Have him charm them to only allow admittance in case of emergency. Be sure to spell the stairs' history so we can view the incident."

"Quiet! All that and more we can do, but first, I have to get Mr. Potter to the Hospital Wing. Severus come along and you can assist me." Finally the voice of Poppy broke through the Gryffindor Head and the esteemed Headmaster.

Severus could not been more relieved. He did not care what the other two did as long as the student he had been charged with protecting did not die. He still did not like the boy but no one, not even a cheeky brat deserved the fate that might become him.

Three quick spells later, Poppy was immobilizing and levitating an unconscious Boy-who-lived onto a stretcher and sending it to the infirmary. Severus jogged along side, keeping his hand on the child's wrist, ensuring his heartbeat. The child's rapidly bluing face concerned him, and he once again placed a slightly shaky palm above Potter's mouth. He kept the other palm on the Gryffindor's wrist. No little puff of air tickled his skin. Severus stilled and swore. "Poppy!"

The Mediwitch turned to the sound of the Potions Master's voice, opening her mouth and closing it almost instantly. Severus paid her no more attention as he resorted to muggle methods, as the Breath of Life Elixir seemed to have no remaining effect on the child. First, he removed the robe he had placed on Harry. He leaned over the child, noticing that Poppy had stilled the stretcher and Severus lowered it to the hard surface of the ground. Remembering what he had learned in a CPR class, asked the child a pointless, "Harry, can you hear me?" Of course he had not expected a response nor did he receive one.

The Potions Master, mindful of Potter's probable neck injury, placed his fingers on either side of the boy's jaw line, forcing his mouth to open. The child's tongue flattened against the root of his mouth and his airway opened. Poppy stood beside him with her wand out, prepared in case of further injury. Though she was the certified Mediwitch, when it came to muggle procedures, it seemed to Severus that she often bowed to his skills.

Snape took a deep breath, and cupped his hands around the boy's mouth. Quickly, Severus leaned further down so that his face connected with the cup of his hands. He counted in his head as he delivered one, then two deep breaths.

Poppy counted aloud as she placed one of her hands over the other and pushed on the slight eleven year old's chest. Severus waited as the witch sped through thirty deep chest compressions. The raven-haired teacher checked to see if the ministrations had helped and still felt no sign of life.

Swearing again, he jerked his head in the negative to signal to Poppy that they would have to try again. He had not lost a child in a long time, and he was not about to let it happen now! Taking the necessary preliminary breaths, he once again forced oxygen into the student's lungs. The Gryffindor's chest rose and fell with both of the Head Slytherin's attempts to force oxygen into his chest. Beads of sweat, born from worry, not the activity, lined Severus' head as he watched Poppy lightly pound the boy's chest over his heart.

After the small wait, Severus confirmed the flat-line diagnosis of the boy. Once again he tried to breathe life into the boy, pleading that the child be shown mercy. He rocked on his heels, waiting for Poppy to finish a third round.

The stoic man allowed his calm façade to crumble slightly as he watched the Matron attempt to save the boy. He could almost feel the tug, a plea from someone long dead to save her son.

Not Harry, please not him!

His more...intense colleagues had laughed themselves drunk telling the tale of poor Lily Potter and her precious baby. Snape had been a new spy by then and even if Lily had not been his best friend, he would have still been sick.

Oh Lily, I'm trying really hard to save your son!

For the child was Lily's not just Potter's as much as the dour professor tried to convince himself. No child should die, especially a boy whose mother had and still did, mean the world to Severus.

With that thought locked in his mind, he checked the boy again. A slight, faint breath met his palm. When Severus slid his hand over the Gryffindor's wrist, the unsteady thump-thump of his pulse beat in stark contrast to his own racing heart. Though both signs of life were weak, Severus could not have been more ecstatic. Lily's son was still with them! It was up to Severus and Poppy to make sure the child stayed alive.

"He's back. Hurry now!" He barked at the Mediwitch who began to levitate Harry to the Hospital Wing again.

Bursting into the sterile white wing, the pair wasted no time in situating the pre-teen onto a firm bed. A whispered spell from Poppy had the boy relieved of his blood-soaked clothes. After a barked Scourgify to rid the boy of the dried crimson bodily fluid, both professors prepared to get to work on the child.

Wands at the ready, they both stilled at the sight of various long scars that seemed to be years old adorning the child's stomach and chest. Before he could stop himself, Severus fingered one of the dull red scars, wincing at the thought of what must have caused them. Snapping himself out of the past, he glanced at Poppy and once again leveled his wand at the boy.

A moment later the Mediwitch's voice broke through his concentration. "I've sealed his open cuts, but he desperately needs a blood replenisher."

Severus nearly snorted as the exhausted looking witch stated the obvious. He had guessed the child would need as much as soon as he saw the boy. Without missing another moment of valuable healing time, the Professor went on with his diagnosis spells, aware that Poppy was completing other diagnostics.

"Severus." Sighing he once again looked up. "Go in the student file cabinet and check for Mr. Potter's blood type, allergies, in fact, just bring his whole file. The password is Aegroto.

Leaving Poppy, he crossed the room and stepped into Poppy's office. Severus uttered the Latin phrase and watched as the enormous oak wood filing cabinet opened with a series of clicks. Not wanting to use precious time trying to find the boy's file, he instead brandished his wand and uttered, "Accio Harry Potter's file!"

A rustling noise, as if the file was fighting its way through a large crowd, and then the file was in the man's potion-stained hands. He briskly walked into the main room of the Hospital Wing, thumbing through the Gryffindor's file. To his surprise, though all the necessary files were physically in the folder, none were completely, if at all, filled to completion. Not having come across the sheet with Potter's-no Lily's son-blood type listed, he searched for it even as he rejoined Poppy. After an intense moment of looking for it, he finally spied the form.

Blood Type____________

The Potions Master swore. Why of all questions did that have to be one of them that was not answered? He could not give the child any Blood Replenisher until they knew for certain what type of blood the child had. Though it was a potion, it was based on blood and like any transfusion, deadly results could occur if someone was given the wrong type.

Of course, a potion with the blood type O could be administered to any patient as it was tolerated well by other blood types. This fact was only useful in the event that O blood was available. With its popularity in healing, the Wizarding Blood Bank was often depleted of such blood.

Before he voiced his concern, he once again turned and walked away from the frail boy and the frazzled witch. He stopped at a cabinet that he knew quite well, as he was the person who had to refill the stores throughout the year.

Medicamentum, he snapped as the cabinet's doors practically flew open at the sound of the Professor's voice. Once again he thanked himself for being a rather organized wizard and having everything alphabetized. Locating the selection of Blood Replenisher, his concerns were confirmed at the lack of O-based potions. Swearing for the third or fourth time that day, he mentally cursed Poppy for not having informed him of the lack of potions. How was he supposed to refill them if he did not know they were gone?

The tall Professor pinched his nose and strode to the floo. After he took some of the shiny green floo powder, he kneeled to the ground and stuck his head in. "St. Mungos' Wizarding Blood Bank!" Deftly he noticed a figure in a pale green robe approach him.

"Yes, how may I help you? Oh hello Severus. Is everything all right at the school?" Severus nearly smiled with relief. It was Healer Hanson, an Order member.

"Not quite so, I fear. We have a student that is in desperate need of a Blood Replenisher, but we do not have any O-based potions, and we don't know what his blood type is. We are going to check him, but he is in a rather critical condition. I was hoping that your stores would not be as depleted as ours?"

Severus did not need to be a master spy or legilimens to read the regret on the other man's face. "Ay, I wish that were true, but the crux of the matter is that, despite our numerous wards, we were robbed the other night. Seems a bunch of vampires stormed the place and drank up our stocks. I suppose that is one of the drawbacks to all the new vampire rules. They get hungry and not having anywhere else to...um...get fed, use what's available. We're still trying to replace the blood. It's slow coming though. Wizards and witches are like muggles in that regard. Few want to donate, but many need our service. Too bad there isn't a better way to draw blood, a bunch of pussycats people are when it comes to needles! Why just the other day-"

"Yes, thank you for your time and I hope that the vampires in question will get their due," Severus interrupted. Time was of the essence, and he could not afford to have idle chitchat with anyone, not even with one of the few wizards that Snape got along with. He pulled himself out of the floo and with a flick of his hand, his robes were spotless.

"Poppy, we're going to have to test his blood!" Severus removed the muggle medical kit and prepared to get the necessary syringes and vials. He had really hoped that it would not come to this. Testing blood types was not a procedure that was done quickly, for magic did not seem to work on deciphering blood.

"Why, Severus? " Poppy looked up confused. The Potions Master quickly briefed her on the situation as he washed his hands. Still a moment later, her eyes bore into his. Now Severus was the one confused.

"What is it that you need?" Severus bit out, annoyed at being stared at as if he was a fool. If there was one feeling that he detested the most it was that others were having their kicks at his expense.

"Severus. There is one staff member who could donate to Harry and not have to worry about it being the wrong blood type." Poppy pointed out, her eyes still locked onto his.

"And who is this mystery person, I might ask?" Snape was in no mood for mind games. The sooner they could get this person, the sooner they could proceed with Po-no Harry.

"You. You have O blood. We can quickly scan your blood to make sure you haven't gotten any undetected illnesses and then set up the transfusion. I'm thinking it might be best to go ahead and perform a muggle transfusion and then later administer a blood replenisher. Mr. Potter does not have the time that making a potion requires. That is, if you are willing." The last bit the Mediwitch ground out in a threatening voice as if daring him to decline to be the donor.

Severus stood shocked. How could he have forgotten his fail-safe! He must be in more stressed than he previously acknowledged himself to be in to forget his own blood type. He was not about to decline Poppy's "request." Even if his opinion of the boy-Lily's child had not been changing, he knew that to deny the blood would ultimately be denying the child a longer life. No, he would cooperate with ease.

"As you wish." He drawled, not quite wanting Poppy to see that he was not being his normal snarky self.

He stood by Poppy as she waved her wand in intricate circles around the boy. Without asking, the Slytherin knew she had been casting some sort of human statis spell that would allow the boy to exist for a short time without medical intervention. Snape had barely any time to react as the witch suddenly turned and levitated him onto a bed.

"Poppy, was that really necessary?" Snape asked as a nearby tray with an armrest flew at him. An invisible spell stuck his right arm onto the platform and the bed tilted back in preparation of the unpleasant feeling of blood loss. "I'm not a student!"

"That may be so, Severus, but you and that boy rival each other in the worst Hospital Wing behavior. When that needle hits your skin, you are officially my patient and you will do as I say starting now!" The witch stated matter-of-fact with no small amount of threat lacing her words. "I realize that I'm not as skilled as you are in muggle medicinal efforts, but I will have to do."

With that as her final words on the matter, she took a cotton ball drenched in alcohol and rubbed it on the inside of the Professor's forearm, near his elbow. Snape forced himself to look away. It was not as if he was scared per se of needles, but he did not have to like them either. Occluding to relax, he barely felt the needle as it slid into a vein. Clamping his shields down, he barely heard the nurse as she informed him that the procedure would take fifteen to thirty minutes.

Finally, the minutes ticked by and the witch removed the tubes that had connected Severus to the donation bags. He swung his feet off the bed and attempted to stand up. The nurse quickly squelched that idea.

"Severus Snape, you will sit here until some color returns to your face and you don't feel nauseous! Get up again without my expressed permission and you will find yourself on the business side of my wand!" With that, the nurse turned and took the blood to her office. A moment later a cup of orange juice and a small tray of peanut butter crackers flew beside Severus. Not feeling well, he gratefully took a sip of the juice and a few crackers, alternating between the two every few minutes.

True to her word, the school matron returned a short time later with news that his blood was fine to give to Harry. By this time, Snape felt completely better and he was allowed to get up. They moved back to the boy and Severus retrieved clean tubes and a needle. He hooked it up in the manner he had practiced many times in the past. Watching Poppy nod, he cleaned the injection site with alcohol and as gently as he could, pierced the eleven year old's skin.

Both of the professors watched Harry for a moment, feeling relieved as the child's skin pinkened with time. By the time the transfusion was complete, the boy's skin was nearly normal in color. They could now focus on the other urgent maladies of the Gryffindor.

Taking the time to read the results of the earlier diagnosis spells, both professors were sent into a cold shock. Few people, magical or muggle, rarely survived the type of injuries the small student boasted. Along with breaking both of his arms and shattering a leg while fracturing the other, Potter's injuries included severe injuries in both his back and neck. Severus had suspected as much, but had hoped that he was wrong. It seemed very little was going the right way. Harry's lower vertebra in his back was snapped and a smaller vertebra in his neck was also broken, twisted around another bone in a ninety-degree angle. One wrong move, and that bone would break as well.

People with these types of injuries typically didn't survive their accident, but if anyone could beat the odds, it would be Potter. Harry had survived the foulest curse as a mere baby; Severus would not allow the child to die from a common accident. Of course, even if, no WHEN, the child survived, he might have some lasting...effects, but neither the Potions Master nor the Mediwitch spoke of them. To speak of them could bring a curse upon them.

Harry would need intensive magical surgery. Skelegrow would be of no use, it did not work on essential and intricate bones as it bore the risk of either misshaping them or hurting bones around the injury. Typically this surgery would be done at St. Mungos, but neither adult quite trusted the place for the Boy Who Lived. So it was up to them.

Severus took a vial of liquid Deep Sleep and spelled it into the child's stomach. Once the boy awoke, there would be issues of probable stomach upset as the potion was ideally administered in vaporous form but that was not an option. In any case, a sour stomach could easily be dealt with through the aid of a stomach elixir.

Once Poppy issued a spell that would keep track of the Gryffindor's vitals, the pair of adults worked on casting gentle spells that would reset the bones. After a slow couple of hours of work, the mending was complete. They cast simultaneous holding spells that would react such as the muggle invention of metal. The spells wound themselves around the fragile bones, keeping them in place with a locking charm.

Despite magic, the whole ordeal still took another two hours, bringing the total operation time to four agonizing hours. It was still to be seen if the injuries had left any...undesirable effects. Harry would have to be awake and alert for those tests.

While they waited for the boy to come out from under the Deep Sleep's effects, Severus paced, lost in his thoughts. He noticed Poppy writing a letter of a piece of official parchment.

As if prompted, she spoke. "I'm writing to Mr. Potter's family. They ought to know about their nephew." She continued in her task even as Severus frowned at her.

"Are you certain that's a wise road to take, Poppy? From the evidence on his back, it does not seem as if they care about him at all," Snape spat out, his words dry enough to cut ice.

"Well Severus, we aren't exactly sure, though it is probably them," she continued at his incredulous glare, "where they came from. It's my duty to inform them." She finished her missive and sealed it with the Hogwarts Crest. A call for Nathaniel brought her owl to her. The animal eagerly took the letter and flew away with instructions to find Harry's relatives and bring back their reply.

With that deed done, Severus glanced back at the son of his precious Lily. Instinctively without thinking about it, he grabbed Potter's right hand. He almost dropped it in surprise at how cold it seemed. This would not do at all, Pot-no Harry, he corrected himself had to stay warm. Frowning in contemplation, he took a couple of new hankies from his pocket and transfigured them into a pair of emerald green mittens.

Harry had seemed rather attached to his lost mittens and after all it was Christmas morning, however early it may be. He gingerly slid them onto the boy's thin hands. There, that was better. There was still something familiar about Harry's old mittens, but as he not had a decent sleep in several days, had not been able to place it. There would be time in the future though and Snape would figure out the puzzle. Recalling how the Granger girl had reacted, perhaps she would be the key, but that was for later. First, Harry had to be out of the woods, so to speak.

A few minutes later, Severus was not surprised when Minerva waltzed into the room. "We've sealed the stairwell and Albus is doing some other duties at the moment. All the children that are staying here for the Christmas holiday are in their beds sleeping peacefully. Well, almost all of them." Despite the gravity of the situation, Minerva gave a small laugh, causing the other adults in the wing to look at her in question.

"Apparently someone decided that Ronald Weasley should be under the Petrificus Totalus hex, a variant actually as the only person who can undo the spell is the caster. And I don't know who that was. I have my ideas but no proof. I'm sorry to say but whoever did that, probably had good reason to. He does seem to be quite the handful."

If he was not so wrung out, Severus would have cracked a smile. The Head of Gryffindor acknowledging the help that retribution can sometimes bring was priceless.

Snape allowed himself to finally think about his change of heart about the Gryffindor. It was hard to hate a boy who in reality had not done anything to him. The child was suffering too much for a petty grudge that existed with the boy's father, the father who had died ten years ago. A stupid grudge.

Minerva soon left, claiming some unfinished business and once again Poppy and Severus were alone with Potter. Madam Pomfrey headed into her office to begin to write up Harry's latest injuries. Each student and staff file had to be up-to-date. Soon it was just Potter and he. Severus held onto the small hand, trying desperately to give strength to the child. A minute went by and then two and then three. Finally, after about four hours the smallest noise entered Severus' ears.

A soft groan emerged from the still being in front of him. "Come on Harry, that's it, open your eyes." Severus whispered, squeezing the child's hands harder. A moment passed and then the familiar emerald eyes slowly opened, acting as if he were trying to lift some heavy stone instead of mere lids. Severus faintly wondered at the peculiar sight of a child who could only move his eyes. It was a sickening scene, one he hoped he would never see again.

"Harry?"

"Pro'er Snape?" Harry groggily answered.

"Yes, it is I. Don't try to move at all. Do you know where you are?" Severus noticed the boy slanting his eyes and quickly the professor slid the child's glasses on for him.

"Hospit'l ‘ing?" Harry slurred as he looked up at the ceiling, the only place he could see without moving. "Pro'er , my sto'ach hurts." Snape was ready with a vial and as he had done before, pointed his wand first at the bottle and then at the child's stomach.

"It's a stomach draught; you'll feel better soon." The Head of Slytherin again proved how perceptive he could be as he correctly read the confusion on the Gryffindor's face. Nodding to himself, he flicked his wand and the familiar doe sped to the office door. Get Poppy, Harry's awake, he demanded and the doe leapt to obey. Less than thirty seconds later, the nurse came running out of her office.

"Mr. Potter, it's nice to see you awake! How do you feel?"

"I ‘eel ok, sore bu' ok." Harry's speech was not back to normal but Severus knew that the effects of the Deep Sleep potion could be long lasting. He stole a look at Poppy. It was time to perform the other tests. Severus hoped that the child would do much better on these tests than the ones that he normally gave in class. These exams were more important than potions.

"Splendid Mr. Potter. Professor Snape and I have to do a couple of...examinations before we can answer your questions that you undoubtedly have in your head. I need you to simply tell me what you feel when I do certain tests. First though look at your professor."

She took out a little hammer-like device and while Severus attempted to keep Harry from noticing what the Mediwitch was doing, he himself watched as she tapped his knees and waited. No jerk, no response to even show he felt it. The two frowned and Poppy removed a large needle and pricked his feet in different places. Still the boy seemed to remain oblivious to the pain. Though Severus noticed that the witch started to look manic with worry, she was able to keep simply testing and retesting. He noticed her wand waving in patterns and her deep-set frowns. Finally, she stopped and rubbed at her eyes. She motioned a finger at the office and Severus stood up.

"Harry...I have to go talk with Madam Pomfrey but we will both be back." He assured the preteen. He turned to go but instead heard a soft cough.

"Sir..why are ‘ou bein' so nice a me?" Harry ground out in confusion.

"I was wrong." Severus simply replied as he rubbed the child's hair out of his face and went and joined Poppy.

"Severus, what are we going to do? He did not feel anything!" Poppy cried out after casting the necessary silencing wards. She shook, looking like Severus felt; barely composed. He forced himself to keep a positive attitude.

"We keep calm is what we do. Harry does not need adults who are scared out of their minds. Perhaps it is temporary, perhaps it is permanent. We cannot do anything more for him at the moment except alleviate his fears." Severus replied, sounding surer than he felt. The day had been far too long and the recent events were too much to handle.

How would Harry cope when he realized he was paralyzed?


	5. Mocks the Song

Paralysis; the inability to move part of the body. Elementary in its definition, yet a grown man would find himself troubled to comprehend the word. How then were they going to tell an eleven year-old child he had this life-changing diagnosis? Harry would not be able soar through the skies again, would not be able to run. The little boy’s life was forever changed.

In time, Harry would learn to cope, but that could take a lot of time and patience. Severus hoped that the child’s inner-Gryffindor would be up to the challenge. Also, what of his friends? Kids that age were cruel. Would they still stand by the boy? He figured that Granger would be able to get past her friend’s disabilities, but was not sure that the youngest Weasley boy would. The child had already began a fight over something inconsequential as mittens. It would be a miracle if Weasley could look past this hurdle.

Severus carded his hand through the little locks of hair sticking on the pillow. Despite doses of Painless Sleep, Harry’s eyebrows furrowed and his face twitched with obvious discomfort. Poppy and the Potions Master had intended to answer the Gryffindor’s questions upon the discovery of Harry’s plight, but the boy had fallen asleep before they had returned to the main room. Severus had flicked his wand and spelled the Painless Sleep into the skinny boy’s stomach. It was all for the best though. No one was ready to tell Harry and most likely the child wouldn’t be able to understand yet. Without being ordered to, Severus had taken up the task of watching the child. Lily’s child.

Two hours after Poppy’s discovery, the Slytherin was still sitting in a hard wooden chair, potion-stained fingers still grasping the boy’s tiny ones. He had gone numb from sitting on the unforgiving chair, but he refused to transfigure it to something more comfortable. It hadn’t escaped him that if he had been only minutes earlier, the child would be safely snug in his own bed dreaming of Christmas delights, not lying in a hospital bed with horrible injuries. Even though he had disliked the Gryffindor, he had made a vow to protect him, and he had failed miserably. There was nothing for it now. No going back.. This was the hand of cards he’d been dealt, and the wry Slytherin was determined to win this game. He would settle for nothing less. It was his job, no honor, to help the young Gryffindor through the child’s hell.

As he had done numerous time that hour, the Potions Master held up black sheets of a charmed parchment. This was no ordinary bit of a roll parchment , but one that worked in a similar manner of a muggle x-ray. He traced his finger along the ridged line of Harry’s vertebra. Though the dour man already knew the child’s prognosis, he could not help but shudder at the visual evidence. The child’s neck, vertebrae C2 and C3 of the cervical spine, had fractured. The two vertebrae showed hypertension, indicating the lad had landed in such a manner that his neck had extended forwards and took all of Harry’s weight. This injury, commonly known as the “Hangman’s Fracture” had been the one to cause the Gryffindor to cease breathing. Despite the worry Severus felt over the injury, over time the child’s neck would heal. It was a blessing that the injury had not extended to the C4 vertebra in his spinal column; such an injury would have almost guaranteed suffocation. As it was, it would take months before Harry’s neck would not need the hard brace that was fitted around it.

In addition, to expedite the healing process, his head was encircled in a muggle halo, a device that was fitted around the Gryffindor’s forehead. The halo used pins that pierced his head and connected at the Gryffindor collarbone with beams on either side leading to two metal poles. . It looked akin to a torture device. As Severus studied the child, he realized that the Halo was indeed causing Harry discomfort. Flecks of blood dotted out from the entrance sites. Severus set aside the parchment concerning the child’s neck and flicked his hand to the right.

“Accio flannel!” The clothe floated onto his hand. “Aguamenti.” Severus took the damp cloth and worked his hands gently around the boy’s head. It wouldn’t do for the child to catch an infection. It was a small thing, but Severus could not help but feel relief that he could do something to aid the child. He took his time cleaning around each puncture, making sure no foreign materials had fallen near the sites. He would not allow Harry to get sick on top of everything else that the boy would have to deal with. Soon, the sites ceased bleeding . “Envisco!” Severus murmured and the flannel disappeared forever.

He lifted the heavy parchments and flipped through the papers until he stopped at the parchment containing Harry’s spinal column. This news was far more troubling, as this was to blame for the child’s paralysis. Harry had managed to break vertebrae T11 and T12. While the breaks would heal, the damage to Harry’s nerves was done and complete. Poppy and he had managed to place some charms on the spine to aid in Harry’s comfort but no charm would restore his ability to walk.

Lils, I’m so sorry, I wasn’t there sooner, that I didn’t stop your child from being injured I promise you I will care for him as if he were my own. He won’t go back to your sister and her lout of a husband.

The child would never return to 4 Privet Drive. He would do everything in his power to see to that. Even if he had to stand up to the Headmaster himself, he would not allow the child to be sent back there. A letter had come in reply to Poppy’s missive about Harry’s injuries. The Potions Master did not have to reread the terse scrawl as he had already memorized it.

The Freak got himself injured. Too bad. Don’t be sending him here; he’s not worth the trouble. We’ll consider it his Christmas gift to us. Best one he’s ever given. They hadn’t even bothered to sign the letter. Merry Christmas .

Bah Humbug! Severus folded up the letter. He waved his hand, ready to banish the offending piece of paper, but then paused. If the Dursleys treated Harry as bad as was feared, there might well be a trial in court and the missive could be used as supplemental evidence. Severus forwent his earlier impulse and instead tucked it into a pocket for safe-keeping until he could find a better place.

Severus used his free hand and rubbed at his eyes tiredly. He refused to sleep though, Harry needed him too much. Harry’s guardianship was just one more hurdle they would have to get through. Flicking his wrist sharply to the right, he summoned a quill, hastily followed by a sharp swish of his wand to conjure a scroll. If he were to help the lad at all, there had to be a plan.

A trip to the London Library of Wizarding Affairs would be in order, but he was loath to leave the child. No doubt, the popular boy would have many volunteers to be his nursemaid, but very few people who could really look out for the best interests of Harry, and not the “Savior of the Wizarding World.” A house-elf would have to attend the errand for him. Another trip, this one to the England Medical Sciences Library, was another necessity. It was operated by muggles, however, so a human substitute would have to fill in for him. Another problem. There weren’t many witches or wizards who could pass as an everyday muggle. He’d have to find a muggleborn or at least one who could think like one. A wizard unfamiliar with Hogwarts and her professors would nominate the current Muggle Studies professor, Chastity Burbage, but Severus knew better. Kind person though she was, she was too emotional, and given to blubbering vital information to total strangers in her distress. Hagrid, the kind-hearted oaf that he was, would also not fit the role. McGonagal, that was a thought. She would jump at the chance to help the Golden Boy.

With his plan decided, he turned his attention to the slumbering child lying motionlessly in the bed. Harry’s hair was fanning his face in an effort to keep out of the child’s way. A single lock of hair had swooped down dancing across his face and tickling his eyes. Severus ghosted his hand near the child’s forehead. Hesitating, he paused a moment, before gently resting his hand on the child’s head and moving the wayward lock back to its proper place. If the Potion’s Master had never spied in his life, he would have missed it, but he caught the ever-so-slight hitch of breath emanating from the Gryffindor.

Severus moved his potion-stained hand back to the child’s mitten-clad one and squeezed it gently. “Harry,” He took care to keep his voice gentle as to not frighten the lad. A barely noticeable pain-filled groan had Severus frowning and he shifted his weight to his feet, standing. “Harry, I am going to get you a pain-potion, I’ll be right back, child.”

SESESE

Harry was drifting, gliding through time as if it were water softly rising up and down on waves. The white noise of the lake, a calmness that balmed his soul. There was no light, total blackness, a midnight ride. He had never boated in his life, though the Dursleys had gone often with friends. Harry smiled. Here there was no time, past and present and future floated together. Neither were there problems, no family who hated him, no professors who harassed him like Snape did on a daily basis, the git.

Though, a dim memory pricked at him. Something.Snape.being nice to him.something so recent yet seemed so long ago. No, that had to be a dream. The Slytherin was never nice, but wasn’t this the dream? Or was this reality? It seemed too far-fetched to be real, but Harry could barely fathom it not being. Whatever it was, Harry was loath to leave the river. The gentle ride soothed his soul, a feeling he had never really felt. It warmed him, thawing the ice that years of abuse had heaped on him. Even the vague smell of sea salt graced his nostrils, and calmed him completely.

Yet.something was not right. A wave, more deeply sated than the ones that came before. One that jarred him ever-so-slightly. A sensation that tossed him and threw his stomach, upsetting it. A feeling of unease wisped through the boy. He wasn’t sure that he liked the waves now. He swallowed, hoping that it was a rare, peculiar movement. Yet.no Harry was again tossed. He moaned. He hated this movement. Something gentle, perhaps a breeze settled against his forehead and then tightness on his hand.

A voice, far-off in the distance, miles or more. Harry. The voice knew his name! Maybe the Voice could help him, take him from the choppy waters. He groaned again. The pressure on his hand lessened and his ears prickled at the sound of a soft thud. The Voice again, “I’ll be right back, child.” No! He didn’t want the Voice to leave. It was maddening to think about having to face the stormy lake alone. He grinded his teeth to loosen his jaw. Oddly it was sore, everything was.“No..don’t,” he squeaked, his throat throbbing. Perhaps he had swallowed the lake’s water. He tried again. “No. don’t leave me,” he ground out, he felt ashamed for begging, freaks like him weren’t supposed to complain, or voice their opinions. Ha. Freaks weren’t supposed to exist. The lake was fading. In its blurry place was white light.

The white grew stronger and mixed with different shades of brown and oddly, a black blob. “Harry!” The voice again, though this time much closer to him. A familiar voice, though in his foggy mind he could not place it. Something gently was placed on his face, lightly touching the bridge of his nose and behind his ears. The image sharpened in an instant. Professor Snape. The dour man was standing beside Harry’s hospital bed.

Bed? Why was he in the Hospital Wing? Falling. He then remembered. The stairs had shifted on him. He remembered then that Snape had been nice to him earlier and had even admitted he was wrong about him. Harry shifted his eyes again, locking in on the slender hand still holding on to his much smaller one. Moving his eyes again, he glanced at his professor. The Slytherin shifted, releasing his hand and seemed to pause. “I’ll get your next dose of pain-medication. You are due for one.” The man stated, as he began to shift away from Harry.

“No please stay.” Harry hated feeling so weak, but he was so scared. Even in that second of being on his own, he had trembled. “I don’t want you to go!” He admitted, strange tears filling his eyes. “Harry, it’s only a few feet away.” The man chided, he paused and Harry felt a hand run through his hair. “Professor…please!” Harry begged. Some part of him knew that he was being a baby, but he felt secure with the professor.

“Very well then. Accio No Pain Children’s Potion!” He wandlessly waved his left hand towards the cabinet. A calculating look danced on the teacher’s face., “Poppy!” he nodded his head towards the office.

“Yes Severus,” the reply came not a moment later By then the potion vial had reached the Potions Master’s outstretched hand. Harry watched as the Potions Master uncorked the vial. The soft hiss reminded him of the bottles of wine his relatives had forced him to open, too lazy to do the deed themselves. “Take one small sip, Harry.” Oddly, he didn’t hand it to him but rather held it to his lips and upturned it like an infant’s bottle. Harry complied, finding it hard to swallow against the lump in his throat. A hand reached up and moved up and down, massaging it. The potion swallowed, he realized that he felt weighted down. He found it was impossible to move his neck and back, but he lowered his eyes to his arms, both were in casts. Oddly, his head felt pressured down as well, with a dull ache all around it. He guessed that he should have felt the sensations earlier but he had been too fuzzy-minded to really notice much of anything. The eleven year-old returned his attention to the conversation between the two adults.

“Harry’s awake.” Not much in the way of conversation, but it was enough as a scuffling was heard and the Medi-witch stood by his bed. The two adults seemed to play a nonverbal game of tennis with their eyes, almost as if they were urging the other to tell him something, something that he would not like. Harry grew tired of the match and tried to clear this throat. Gathering up some of the Gryffindor bravery that he was known for, he interrupted the two.

“Please, what is wrong? Why are both of my arms in casts? Couldn’t I have been given Skelegrow?” Harry tried to look from each adult but noticed that it seemed difficult. Something hard was surrounding his neck and in his peripheral vision, he noticed a stand that had connectors that led to the brace. He must have been hurt horrible.

Red hot anger danced in his eyes, this was not how Christmas was supposed to go! He was supposed to be lying in bed, laughing over the latest stupid thing that Ron did. He should to be planning snowball fights, and figuring out how to postpone the homework that Hermione nagged him about! If possible, this Christmas was shaping out to be even worse than all of the ones he had spent with his relatives.

For a moment, the adults seemed to ignore him, though it was apparent they had tired of their non-verbal batter. “It would have been unwise to give you Skelegrow, as it would adversely affect a few other injuries you sustained.” Once again, Snape’s voice was soft in a way that Harry would have never guessed the strict teacher able to have.

“Severus, shouldn’t we wait for Albus?” Madam Pomfrey questioned, her eyes resting on Harry.

“No, you know Albus. This will change things…change plans,” his professor responded, gazing at him with sadness…and an odd sort of relief when he had announced it would change some plans.

“Please, tell me. I know it’s about me!” Harry ground out, still polite but with a touch of forcefulness. Harry saw the adults exchange one final look before Professor Snape moved even closer to him.

“Harry, we have something to tell you, something that isn’t pleasant, but nonetheless, it’s imperative. First of all, do you remember why you are in the Hospital Wing?” Harry nodded. He had fallen from the stairwell. “Well, after you fell I found you and with Madam Pomfrey’s help, we brought you here. It was serious for a long time, and it took a bit of time to treat your injuries-“ ,

“-But I’m ok now, right? I mean, I’m still alive!” Harry interrupted. Instead of the scolding he was almost certain he was getting, the Professor’s face flickered into a frown before just as quick, returning to its normal stoic expression.

“You are going to live, correct.” The man replied soft yet cryptic. “Harry…the fall, it damaged your neck and spine a bit. We did surgery but,” Snape seemed to swallow and his face twisted into an grimace, “there is a chance you’ll never walk again.”

Silence. The world spun as Harry grasped onto the professor’s meaning. “I’m…paralyzed.” His face drained of all color and he fought the incoming bout of nausea. No more walking, running…no more Quiditich…how was he supposed to even get to Gryffindor Tower? Now he would never ever be considered normal. Another reason to be stared at, pitied. “No! You’re lying. Adults always lie to kids. I’m not paralyzed! I can’t be paralyzed! I’m fine! See?” Harry shifted his elbows to prepare to get out of the bed. Two sets of arms shot out and held him back. Not that he needed the resistance. His legs hadn’t obeyed his command to move. Two skinny twigs that he could no longer move or control.

“NO!” He screamed. “It’s not true, it’s not true!” “You’re lying, I’ll be ok! It’s just a dream-a nightmare!” Several things happened at once. A jet of white light flew from Harry, it seemed to him that it burst from his heart.

A crashing sound and then a muttered, “Reparo,” from Snape. Harry felt an hand on each of his arms, and his nostrils filled with spices and ingrediates he would normally consider very vile. Somehow, it worked and Harry felt his anger deflate. Somewhere it registered to him that he heard the Professor summon a vial of Calming Draught With Stomach Soother. Once again, the bottle was placed on his lips and he was helped in swallowing.

A minute passed before he felt the potion, tasting of lavender and milk and honey, seeping through his veins. Cloaked in the false sense of calm, he cleared his throat again. “Paralyzed? But I can still feel my hand when you squeeze my fingers. Madam Pomfrey frowned and bending down, she looked him in the face.

“Mr. Potter, your paralysis affects the lower half of your body, your thighs down.”Still under the clutches of the Calming Draught, Harry thought it odd.

“How’s that? I thought once you were paralyzed, it affects your arms too?” He pressed on.

“Mr. Potter, we wished to have this conversation later, as even this much information is unsettling at best upon waking. However, I will allow you to know that while you are unable to walk, you retained upper-body control. Your injuries would have caused lack of bladder and bowel control, but when we did your surgery, I placed permanent charms that restored that. Your neck, while it’s broken, is expected to fully heal without any complication,” the witch explained while Harry felt a warmth spread across his cheeks. He still wasn’t sure if this was all a cruel joke, because there was no way he could paralyzed. No way could they be talking about his loo habits. It wasn’t true! Yet, both of the adults acted like it was.

Harry wished that he had a free, uninjured hand so he could run his fingers through his fringe as he always did when he was scared or confused. Still, he couldn’t stop thinking about it. Bladder, bowel control. Even the thought of not having it, was embarrassing. Scary too, as what would the Dursleys say if he fouled up in their house. Forget surviving the fall, he would be dead after that! Harry swallowed, a new worry surfacing. He could feel his heart fighting the Calming Potion as it sped up and moist droplets of sweat covered his brow. Any way he looked at it, he was dead. The Dursleys would never take him back, not unless their goal was to kill him.

“The Dursleys…have they been told?” he asked, his voice meek with worry. Some part of him hoped they had not, but guessed that it was probably protocol when a student was severely injured. He felt a long hand squeeze his own and he looked into the obsidian eyes of his teacher.

“Harry, you’ll never go back there.” Harry blinked in confusion. He thought that they would be shipping him off tonight, as he had never heard of a paralyzed wizard. True, he could still cast spells and do potions, but out of a thousand students, none were paralyzed. What was he going to do? If this was the truth, and this was his life and he really was paralyzed, how would he cope? He wasn’t strong enough. Heck, who could be eleven, and face this without parents to love and support him.

More than ever, Harry’s heart ached. His Mum and Dad should be there. They should be holding his hand, kissing his cheek and hugging him. Telling him it would be ok and that they would be there for him. Ron always complained that his Mum embarrassed him with her displays of love, but Harry would do almost anything to have that. No one would ever hug Harry though. Well, Ron’s mum might, but she was Ron’s mum, not his. It wasn’t and would never be the same. Why did he care though? He had been an orphan for ten years, all his remembered life, had known he was unloved for that equal amount of time. But. He couldn’t shake it, logical or not, he wanted someone to hug him, someone to comfort him. Professor Snape was helping, all of people, but he so longed for a hug. He doubted it was possible though-the Halo and not to mention his other injuries would make physical contact like that impossible. So, no matter he had no one to give him any hugs. He sighed and refused to think any more on that topic, it could not be helped.

Harry felt his eyelids growing heavy. He must have attracted the attention of Snape and Pomfrey as he saw them inch closer to him. “Sleep now child.” The low tone of his Potions-Master and the Calming Draught he had earlier consumed lulled him to the land of slumber. The last thing he heard were the cling clong of faraway bells.

SESESESESE

Something was not right. In the far-off distance, bells tolled, welcoming in another early-morning of Christmas, but that was not what had awakened her. A sense of forbearance seeped into her veins, spreading throughout her entire body. She rubbed her eyes, attending to the sleepies that had crusted up in her hours of slumber. A pause. And then…she knew what the feeling was. Her friends had dubbed it her monitor, a peculiar sense that allowed her to know when something was wrong.

As to what was the problem, she did not know, but she would find out. Sitting up, she grasped for her wand, lying innocently on her bed stand. Once she had palmed it, she softly whispered an Lumos. Her wand lit up with a soft yellowish light and she peered at her roommates. All were asleep, so the problem was not with them. Nothing for it, she would have to disobey the curfew rules and leave her dormitory. She sighed and lowered her wand to search the floor for her house shoes. Upon locating the small lilac set, she slipped them on and cast a final glance at her friends. Satisfied that she had not awoken anyone, she tiptoed to the door.

The handle creaked as she grasped the door and she paused. A moment later, she cracked it open and tiptoed out. She took each step soft, and soon arrived in the common room. Hermoine swished her lit wand around the scarlet and gold room. She smirked when she realized that Ron was still where she had left him. She was still angry with him, but knew if something had happened, the redhead would have noticed.

“Ron!” She knelt to be eye-level with the prone boy.A blink was all he could manage and Hermione realized her mistake. “Finite Incantantum.” The witch watched as Ron’s muscles relaxed and his face less rigid. A few minutes later, Ron had recovered from the curse. In a rare moment of sympathy, the bushy-haired child, held out her arm and waited for the redhead to grasp it. Then she led him to the couch. “Are you all right?” She toyed with a lock of hair.

Ron’s face twisted, his disbelief etched in angry lines over his face. “What, are you daft? Of course I’m not all right! You cursed me!” He squeaked, sliding away from the witch.

“Well, you deserved it. Listen, I have a task for you. I need you to check on Harry for me. Something, I don’t know, is wrong.”

Ron blanched, “I already know that Harry’s not in our dorm. He crept out several hours ago. About an hour or so ago, McGonagall came in, took a look at me and left after a few minutes. Funny, she sort of half-smiled when she saw me” he trailed off, and looked at Hermione. “You think something’s wrong with him?”

Hermione only nodded and headed towards the door. Ron scrambled to join her and they journeyed into the darkened corridor. The Fat Lady was asleep, a drunken sleep it seemed for her goblet was empty and she was sprawled on the floor of her painting.

The pair , silent as mice, walked to the stairwell and stopped with a jerk. A sudden force had forbidden them to set even a toe on the top stair. The witch looked at the wizard, who returned her questioning glance. Hermione took one step back and sat down on the cool stone floor.

“Now what?” Ron turned to Hermione, confusion written all over the redhead. She pondered the problem and as she was famous for, offered her input. “Well, it’s obviously charmed so no one can go down the stairwell, but why?” The two first years were oblivious to the dark figure, crouching in the dark.


	6. Presently Remembering Christmas Past

Presently Remembering Christmas Past  
A fiery headed teen stood facing him. Looks of anger, and resolute were painted bold on her face. He swallowed as he murmured "Lily, I'm sorry! I didn't mean it. Please forgive me!"

"Save it Severus, I have nothing left to say to you! You Death Eater apprentice! You are just like the rest of your housemates!" The girl's emerald eyes flashed in a way he never wanted to see, hate, pure hatred. A peculiar, gut-wrenching ache settled in his stomach as he tried to think of anything that would change his friend's mind.

"Lily, please, please you have to listen to me. Let me explain!" His eyes filled with tears even as he tried to squelch them.

"I have to do no such thing, Snape."

The Fat Lady glared at the Slytherin as the portrait slammed in his face.

"Noo!" The howl of a broken man, the anguish of a child arose in the air as he cursed his very existence.

Severus jerked awake.

"Lily," he said, his voice filled with longing. It was no use. Lily was never coming back.

He never had the chance to apologize again, to explain. Severus' prior treatment of her son would have earned him another lifetime in Hell as far as his former best friend was concerned, but maybe he could change the little boy's fate. Neglect and abuse could condemn a child but he refused to let Harry go down that route. The boy would know how it felt to be cared for. He did not kid himself though. He was a harsh man and set in his ways. It would take time for his attitude to change, if ever it did so completely. He would try but change was never one thing he could adapt to easily. Then there was the child, would the boy, who was obviously uncared for at home, be able to give him his trust? Or were the emotional wounds too deep to heal? Only time would reveal the answer.

Severus had a secret, one Lily had not even known. Oh, he tried to tell her, or at least have the Headmaster inform her. What a difference it would have made if only she had known. He had never been a loyal Death Eater. Never. No way in Hell would he have chosen to serve a depraved psychopath.

It was all the Headmaster's idea; Severus was only a pawn. Albus needed a spy to infiltrate the ranks of Voldermort, but one that Dumbledore was sure would never give into the tempting allure of Dark Magic. He came to Severus when he was only a fifth year, promising Severus refuge from his abusive father if only he fulfilled this little deal as he had put it.

Severus had done his part, played the role he was expected to perform but the Headmaster made excuses. He could not find him a home, nor could he stay at the castle during the summer holidays. In short, Severus was now a slave to both masters. True, he had more respect for his employer but only just. He had to perform dastardly acts as a spy, ones that still haunted him after ten years away from active duty. When there was even one other person around, he even had to still think that he had been a loyal Death Eater. Very rarely he allowed himself to dwell on the truth.

The spy's ears registered the dong of five bells. Soon it would be dawn, and Christmas with all its fuss would be here, but until that time, he would rest. Resting his head on the back of the chair, he allowed his eyes to fall shut.

A wisp of memory long forgotten tore through the master occlumen's brain.

"My faithful followers, I have a new order for you. It occurred to me while we were on our last raid that while ridding the world of mudbloods and filthy muggles alike, we should assure the future with more faithful blood. Therefore, men, you will each donate your seed to the British Wizarding Fertility Clinic. The pathetic lot will not know they are raising a future Death Eater, but as you are my loyal followers, surely any children you sire will be as loyal." The pale face of his more sinister master widened into an ugly smile.

Having no other option, Severus had complied to keep both of his masters at bay. He had, though, made one provision that with a spot of luck neither would learn. A small whirl of soft white, black and brown colors and he found himself in his dreary home.

"Annie!" A three-foot skinny house elf wearing a smock with a Snake curled in an "S" crest emblazed on it appeared before the young man.

"What's can Annie be's doing for young master?"

"I need you do me a favor, put a house elf charm on this sample that will automatically notify me if anything ever befalls the subject. The charm cannot be traceable by any wizard, do you understand?"

Annie bobbed her head, her auburn hair flying to the air and falling back again. "Yes sirs, right aways!" The dream then faded and refocused.

He watched himself pick up something and walk to the cashier, and rush to the door. The dream abruptly ended.

SESESE

Brilliant streams of light reflecting off the blanket of snow filtered into the Hospital Wing and Harry's eyelids, causing him to stir from his potions-induced haze. Everything was blurry to him and it took him a second to remember his glasses.

Then other memories flooded his mind. The fall. The news, a great dam of memories that his sleeping mind had blissfully forgotten. In his drugged up state, he had almost simply taken the news as granite, as law. Now, though, he expected he was still doped up a bit, he was not as trusting. Oh, he knew that the Mediwitch knew her stuff but no way could he believe the outrageous thought that he'd never walk again! And even if, and it was a big if, he was truly paralyzed, miracles do happen, so no, he wasn't going to give up. He was a Gryffindor for crying out loud!

He had a vague memory of Snape, the hater of all things Gryffindor, being nice to him, ha the git probably just wanted to butter him up with kindness before making him a laughing stock to his precious Slytherins. He couldn't remember how he acted to Snape earlier in the night, but he would show him that Harry was no fool.

It was highly frustrating that he couldn't see worth a Knut. Even more annoying was that he couldn't even get his glasses with his hands enclosed in the thick white casts. If only he had his glasses and then he could see and maybe he could get down to business at proving the professors wrong. He would do about anything to be able to see.

Though Harry was nearly blind, his hearing was finely tuned and a swoosh of air...or of magic swept through his ears and a soft thud hit his face bringing the world into focus. His glasses! His glasses...had he performed accidental magic again or had he wandlessly and wordlessly summoned them?

Maybe he had, and maybe not. Harry knew both magics were possible. Dumbledore and Snape used loads in the brief time that he had been at Hogwarts, but him? He was eleven years old, and an untrained wizard at that! It was possible, but not very likely, so it must have been accidental.

Hearing a disturbance, his first reaction was to try and look for the source; instead he felt an unnatural stiffness that didn't allow for any movement. In fact the stiffness circled his whole neck and at places, the stiffness was replaced by steeped pain. He had forgotten the stupid brace and halo that he laid trapped in. However, he could still move his eyes and what he saw out of the corners astonished him. His Potions professor was seemingly asleep yet rubbing one of cast-covered arms. Harry was torn, should he snap at his oily teacher, demand that he let go of his arm, or should he ignore it and hope that the teacher moved soon? If there was one thing that Harry hated, it was to be touched. He counted to 500, hoping that the teacher would awaken and simply let go. No such luck as 500 came and the professor still lay asleep running his hand on his cast.

" Snape?" Harry coughed loudly.

"Hmm...oh hello, Harry. How are you feeling?" his professor glanced at him while standing up to stretch.

"Fine. Whatever you think, I'm not paralyzed! I can't be. I'll get up and be able to walk, I will!" Harry was sure. If he could survive a deadly curse and only end up with a jagged scar, then there was no way an accident could paralyze him. He would not allow some meddling mediwitch and a greasy git to tell him otherwise.

His teacher moved into his line of vision better and inclined his head.

Harry noticed that he didn't respond to his angry declaration but instead his corners of his mouth turned up, the slightest wisp of a smile. Harry's frown deepened, was the bullying teacher making fun of him? Instead, his teacher ghosted his hand over the top of his head and spoke.

"It's Christmas Day Harry. I'm afraid I have nothing to give you, but a house elf left you some gifts here." What the heck, it was Christmas? Harry knew that it was close to Christmas, but he had not realized that it was the actual day. Then again his brain was still foggy with unnatural sleep, so he wondered what else he could be missing.

Harry watched as Snape made a waving motion with his hand and a table followed by several packages floated through the air. A twist of his professor's hand and the presents gracefully floated down to the table with a soft thud.

"Presents? For me?" his eyes widened with surprise. Who would have thought he'd get presents? Sure, Dudley got presents, his parents overloaded the entire house when it was his birthday, or Christmas or for any reason actually. Harry himself though had never gotten anything. Then it dawned on him, and he felt like slapping himself. If the Slytherin Dungeon Bat was giving him presents then they must be hexed. Of course, the teacher would never claim to actually give the Boy Who Lived presents; he would say they were from someone else. That way if Dumbledore found out that they were hexed, then Snape only had to claim that they weren't from him.

He noticed the studious look he received from the professor, an expression he had seen the Slytherin wear when dissecting a rather strange potions ingredient. It quickly was erased as his expression once again settled into something that resembled cheerful. Harry couldn't decide, he had never seen the professor use any other expression except anger or if his memory served him correctly, in the case of the prior night, worry.

Snape picked up a bundle wrapped in a brown lumpy sack tied off with a bright red ribbon. He made an attempt to hand it to Harry and then paused. "Would you like me to open it for you?"

"I don't want them." Harry watched as Snape stared at him in confusion, a rather bemusing expression for the man, he thought idly.

"But, Harry, they are from your friends, you want to see what they got you, don't you?"

"I'd just as soon not be hexed, thank you very much," Harry spat, rolling his eyes, the only part of his body he could move.

"Harry, they aren't hexed." Snape sighed and fingered his wand. Was he going to do something to him, as if being hurt wasn't enough? Instead his professor spoke, "Would you believe me if I cast, Revealo which will show any magical tampering?

Harry hesitated, he did sort of want to open the presents, and he had heard Hermione use that spell, so he knew it was legit. "Yes." A muttered revealo later and each of the presents were proved to have no lingering spells.

Snape again turned to Harry, "'Now would you like me to open your gifts for you?"

"No. I can do it myself." Harry snapped. He was already sick of people treating him like an invalid, incapable of the easiest of tasks.

"Fine then, here's one from Miss Granger." The present was placed near his left arm. Harry wondered for a moment the dilemma of removing the paper with his cast-covered hands. He attempted to get a grip on the present with the tips of his fingers that were not in the casts. Nothing for it though, as his fingers had trouble gripping the square-like package. He tried again. And again. Still nothing worked. Harry grew angry once more. This whole situation was totally unfair. He couldn't even open a ruddy Christmas present without trouble! And to add the Greasy Git to witness his weakness, that was just the pudding after dinner! He wanted to scream, he longed to yell from the top of the astronomy tower that the mediwitch and Snape were liers that he'd walk again soon. He wished to have the luxury of being a toddler and throwing a full-body on the floor temper tantrum. Most of all though, he wished he could cry. With all his might, he flung his arm out, striking the present. It fell to the floor harmlessly. Christmas could go hang for all he cared.

SESESESE

Severus was more than unsettled. Before allowing his anger to take hold of him, the child had seemed genuinely surprised that he received presents. Had no one ever shown him mercy and kindness? Though a strict man, the Slytherin could overlook a pre-teen tantrum. The child had far too much on his plate and needed to have some leeway, though he knew that there would eventually have to be a constructive outlet for his anger. At the moment, Severus was willing to ignore the child's attitude, venting was most likely healthy. He glanced over at the Gryffindor student and noticed that his eyes seemed to be growing glossy. The child was retreating; he had seen it before with his students. Unable to handle strenuous events, they withdrew into themselves, an unconscious self-preservation act.

He kept a steady eye on the boy as he bent down and picked up the present. He set it with the others on the bed side table to await Harry; he would definitely want them later. His gaze fell to the pair of green mittens lying on the table. He had given them to a drug-sedated Harry mere hours ago. There was still a mystery there; the innocent green mittens, whether the old set Harry had owned or this new set, both affected him. A nagging, persistent urging that insisted he remember something, he only wished that he could. Knowing that Harry was paying him no attention, he reached and picked one of the mittens up, turning it over and over in his hand. A memory tore through him, knocking him down to his knees. A little boy with weather-abused hands, a look of longing on the child's face. He remembered it all. The young child he had helped two years ago and the one currently laying fragile in bed were one and the same.

He gingerly arose to his feet, walked the short distance to the chair he had occupied all night and sat. It was time to bring Harry to the present. "Harry." The boy showed no sign of hearing him. "Harry, time to return now." Weary, pain-filled eyes met his own.

"I don't want anything to do with you, with them-"he gestured to the presents, "with anything!" Though the words were defiant, it was all too obvious that his attitude was a mask, his voice squeaked with repressed tears. Severus attempted to think of anything that would show the eleven-year old that he cared but allow for the space the young Gryffindor desired. He thought to his own childhood days and knew just what to do. Casting a spell, he waited.

SESESESE

Harry eyed the professor, he didn't want to know what Snape was doing, he didn't! It was simply survival skills that had him following the teacher with his gaze. He wasn't really interested in whatever the teacher was casting. Not one little bit. Unable move his head and follow with his eyes, he listened to a soft thud as the wooden door creaked open. He saw a small rectangular shape fly through the air and fall into Snape's awaiting hands. Before he could comment on the shape that he now recognized as a book, the Slytherin open the well-weathered book. "Marley was dead: to begin with." His teacher read aloud as Harry closed his eyes. He would not listen, he simply wouldn't allow himself to be drawn in, only the weak allowed them to be fooled. Harry wasn't weak and he certainly wasn't a fool. His teacher read on, seemingly oblivious to Harry's inattention. Still, despite all his trying, he could not help but listen to the story, after all, Snape didn't have to know he was listening, right?

He wouldn't allow himself to dwell on it, but he felt sad but oddly comforted when his teacher at least read, "And so, as Tiny Tim observed, God Bless Us, Every One!" They lapsed into a mutual silence and Harry was startled when Snape spoke again. "That Harry was "A Christmas Carol" by Charles Dickens, a classic and my favorite childhood book."

For the first time in several hours, Harry allowed his eyes to meet his professor's. Oh, he was still angry and determined that everyone was wrong and he'd walk again but he made no refusal when Snape again placed his hand upon his shoulder. "Happy Christmas Harry."


	7. Weaving a Web of Despair

Eyes blinked open as Harry stirred. Something felt odd, even stranger than the aftermath of his accident.The golden light streamed through the windows, it was morning. The Hospital Wing was calm, so it wasn’t as if some emergency had occurred. Unable to move his head, he scanned his eyes around the large hall. He was still the only patient to occupy a bed. Harry strained his ears, listening for anything that might be different. There was something . . . but he couldn’t place it. Birds chirped their morning greetings in the distance. The wind hitting the castle drummed a thud against the stone walls.

Then the freight train slammed into him. What was so different was the absence of the noises he’d begun to associate with the hustle and bustle of the Hospital Wing. There was no soft-soled shoes thudding against the stone floor as Pomfrey strutted about. No clanking of potion bottles as she rearranged her stores.

There were no instruments being shoved in his mouth, no swishing of a wand and the whisper of some unknown Latin spell. It was as if the nurse wasn’t even there. But that didn’t make sense. What type of mediwitch would leave her patient alone? Something still didn’t feel right, but he shrugged aside the feeling.

He had to attempt to change the sentence handed to him. Pomfrey and Snape be darned, he wouldn’t listen. He’d walk again! There had to be some way!

He vaguely remembered a needle-sharp pain on his neck and then relief from that pain sometime during the long night. He raised a cast-clad arm to his neck, tentatively running his hand on it. The hard unbending plastic of a muggle brace was there but gone was the rigid torture-like device that made up his halo. Well, at least one positive thing had happened to him. Perhaps he could use this opportunity to prove to everyone-he included that Harry Potter was no weakling!

He didn’t know much about paralyzed people. Why would he know anything? He didn’t have any friends who were paralyzed and it wasn’t as though the subject was taught in primary school. In Health class, the teacher had merely glossed over the subject while teaching tolerance. “Children in wheelchairs may have some differences, but they still can be great friends and there are many things they can do.”

No one his year had been in a wheelchair, so he hadn’t had the opportunity to befriend one. Oh, Merlin, were people going to start treating him weird because of the slight chance that he was paralyzed? Not that he was, of course, he couldn’t be. He was already the Boy-Who-Lived, he didn’t need any more reasons to be stared at like some animal in the zoo.

He had casts and braces over his body though, so it wasn’t like he could just get up and walk. He would need an easier test. Harry scrunched his brow. How could he prove to himself he could walk when his bones healed? Harry remembered an old telly soap opera where a lady had been hurt but was able to wiggle her toes. That would be simple enough.

He closed his eyes and willed for his big toe on his left foot to move. He couldn’t tell if it worked or not so he attempted again. Harry pleaded for his body to listen to the elementary request. However, he might as well have requested Advanced Arithmancy.

No! This could not be happening! His toe had to move! It had to!

He tasted a small copper-like fluid. Harry raised one arm awkwardly to his mouth, a few drops of blood dripped onto his casts. Huh? When had he bit his tongue?

But the blood wasn’t important when his toe wouldn’t move! Wait!

Harry peered towards the end of the bed as best he could. Was it his imagination or did the sheets move a tiny fraction? He could’ve swore the stiff white material had seemed to risen for a moment, but now it looked like it had never moved. The Gryffindor hoped that his eyes hadn’t betrayed him but for all he knew, he was already Potioned Up and could be seeing things.

Maybe he should just bite the bullet and attempt to stand. Harry breathed deep and put his arms behind him. Grunting, he pushed as hard as he could with his elbows. Sweat beaded his brow. It shouldn’t be so hard to hold his own weight!

Harry crashed down with a yelp as his elbows gave out on him, leaving him flat on his back. His arms were as useful as everything else in his body!

The boy tightened one stiff hand into a ball, leaving his left pointer finger out of the awkward cast clad fist. He gulped. He had to know for sure.

He slowly lowered his hand and brushed his finger along his side. Nothing. But there would be nothing, right? People didn’t generally feel small brushes against their skin. He shut his eyes and poked the skin with a quick motion.

He felt something, a small burst of almost unnoticeable pain. But was it in his hip? Or in his finger from where he had poked himself?

He pulled his hand closer to his face and studied the lone finger. The cast came over the length of the fingers but left enough room for his slightly awkward fist. His pointer finger was red, evidence from the experiment he had set. It ached but he still wasn’t convinced. Perhaps it still hurt his legs and he just didn’t know it.

He needed something sharp so he would definitely feel it. The nurse was bound to have some sort of muggle medical equipment. She probably had loads of needles. He hoped they weren’t as guarded as her potion stores. He didn’t know if it would work, but he had to try.

An Accio gave him what he needed.

Harry’s hand shook as he lowered the bed sheets and rolled his pajama bottoms down to his hip. He took a deep breath and plunged the needle down into his skin. Blood beaded out but still no pain.

Harry gritted his teeth before moving his hand a few inches to the right and stabbed the needle into his skin again. Nothing. Blood trickled down his side, a small pool forming on his sheets. He jabbed the needle into his hip and pushed it deeper. Still not a single shot of pain, even as the blood painted his hip red. A tear of betrayal fell down Harry’s cheeks as the needle sunk into his skin again. He couldn’t be paralyzed, he just couldn’t!

Worst of all he was alone. No one was there to tell him it would be okay, to tell him he could beat the odds. He didn’t trust his slimy Potions professor. No one had ever cared about him besides his new found friends and parents he couldn’t remember.

It would figure that the moment he admitted to himself that he didn’t mind Snape’s hand covering his own, the bat would be gone. No one ever stayed.

An hour passed. Then two. Would anyone come help him? He was so scared, and he was in pain. “Please, someone come help me! Please!”

To his embarrassment, a slight wetness dripped down his cheeks. He never cried! Big boys never cry!

Where was Pomfrey? She would never leave her hospital wing for so long and especially with no one to care for her patients! For that matter, where was Snape? As annoyed as he was at the man, he’d welcome the Slytherin with open arms if he would only come and help him! He was trapped, and he hated it.

“Please Uncle Vernon, please don’t leave me here. Please don’t leave me in the shed!” he sobbed while his uncle wrapped the chains on the boy’s tiny wrists. The darkness began to descend as his uncle blocked the door. The man turned to leave. The heavy-set human paused and with a glare his fist clenched and punched Harry in the eye.

Vernon backed away.

The door slammed and Harry sobbed in his prison.

He knew it wouldn’t work. No one ever listened to him, but he couldn’t help it , he continued to call out, his voice breaking with sorrow. He wiped his eyes from the seemingly endless stream of tears.

Out of the corner of his eye, he saw a black dot moving about in the corner space. A spider.

“Come here, girl.” To his amazement, the spider wandered over.

“Your name is Charlotte.”

That summer had been the worst he ever had with the Dursleys though it paled with how he felt now. He was so alone with no one to comfort him. Not only in the room, but really, anywhere in the world. He didn’t have a mum like Dudley did. He didn’t have a Dad like most of his classmates. His parents were dead, killed by some murderer who had wanted to kill him, too. His parents had made the ultimate sacrifice for him, but he wanted someone here with him!

He wrapped his arms around his thin chest. No one wanted to hug the Freak-Who-Lived.

SESESESESESE

Darn the old bitty for making him leave the hospital wing! There had been a so-called emergency and Severus had been pulled away from watching Harry. The Mediwitch could have easily examined and treated the two students who had come down with Dragon Pox but no, they were Slytherins and he was expected to help her. The illness was contagious but paled when compared to having a seriously injured student in his care.

“Severus, are you paying attention? This is the third time I’ve asked you to hand me some Bruise Balm!”

Merlin, would that woman ever stop? If she wanted the darned balm so much, a simple Accio would take care of it! Had she never heard of magic? He rolled his eyes as he sent the bottle flying over to the mediwitch.

The bottle zoomed in the air , spinning such as a muggle bullet. The contents swirled as it flew. Poppy was no match for Severus’ charm and the vial crashed onto her head.

“Severus!”

“You wanted the Balm, did you not?” He smirked, his arms crossed over his chest.

“Yes, but you know full well I had no intention of having to use the Balm for myself!”

The head of Slytherin vaguely noted that the two sick students were covering snorts with the palms of their hands. He’d have to talk to his Prefects about the lack of subtlety in first year students. He could always threaten the Prefects with not going on Hogsmeade trips. The younger students would be straightened out quickly.

“One must always be prepared. Mustn’t they, Poppy?” Severus placed a monitoring charm on the students that would allow the Mediwitch or him to watch the students from the hospital wing. It wouldn’t do for them to be brought up there and give the disease to Harry.

Speaking of whom, hadn’t they been gone too long? The young boy was sure to have noticed their absence by now. He had to get out of the Snake Pit and back to Harry.

“Severus.”

“Merlin, will you shut up for a moment!”

“Severus, that is no way to talk to me, I know you are worried about your potions but we are needed here!”

“No, I am not needed here. I have signed the appropriate forms that as their Head of House authorized the treatment. My job here is done. You can do all of this-“he waved his hand around the stone room,” by yourself.”

At least Poppy had edited her rebuke and cited potions as his concern. It would not due for anyone to know that the Boy-Who-Lived was injured and laid up in the Hospital Wing practically defenseless. The only students in the room were first years and their families were aligned with the light but Severus would not delude himself that older students did not know eavesdropping spells.

“Severus. It’s good that you are so serious about your potions, but you are in charge of these children as well.” The nurse clucked her tongue and waved her wand at one student. “Hmm . . . slight fever. Severus, could you please-“

The head of Slytherin paced in front of the beds.

“Severus. Never mind. Just go back to your potions. For the sake of everyone.”

The Mediwitch didn’t have to order Severus twice.

SESESESESESE

Harry felt a gentle pressure on his shoulders. Had someone managed to get inside the shed to rescue him? Wait, no. There weren’t any chains or rusty nails. Oh. The Hospital Wing. But who was calling to him, hugging him? Black robes, a soft odor wafting to his nose and Harry knew. Snape.

“Snape?” Harry looked up into his teacher’s tunneling eyes.

“Severus, Harry.” His professor gently rubbed the boy’s shoulders.

Right. The man had told him to call him by his first name. Part of that “I feel so bad for what I did to you” rubbish. Ugh, he felt so relieved to see Severus but yet at the same time, so angry. His need for company override his desire to hurt Snape for the moment.

“Harry.” The man’s concern was obvious to the child. The eleven year-old felt his professor’s eyes beading down on him. He forced himself to follow the man’s gaze. Scarlet pools of blood soiled his sheets. The needle.

“Sir. . .it’s not what it looks like.” He bit his lip as Snape drew his wand.

“No?”

“No… I just wanted to feel.”

Snape sighed and whispered a spell that healed his injuries and then cast a cleaning charm on the sheets.

“Where were you sir?” Harry ground out a moment later, his voice carefully neutral.

“Harry, I didn’t want to leave you, Pomfrey needed me to help with a case of Dragonpox in Slytherin. She is still there but I told her that I needed to get back to you. I’m very sorry child.”

“It doesn’t matter.” He hated that his voice came out as a whimper.

“Of course it does child. I didn’t mean to, but I let you down.” Severus ran his hand through Harry’s fringe.

The Gryffindor tried to resist the calmness that the repetitive motion of the lean hands stroking his head brought. He really did but he was soon more relaxed than he had ever been since his world had turned to Hell.


	8. Nursing Up News

There were many things muggles and wizards had forgotten. Busy lives overtook less important matters, things once treasured, lay abandoned. Paths people once frequented now only traversed by either the most desperate or the most obligated. Such was the case of Smite Street, a road off to the side of the more popular, Diagon Alley. Tall brick buildings with broken windows and boarded up doors, the street was both accessible to muggle and wizarding folk. Not that there were many people who found reason to set foot onto the cobblestone path.

Presently however, there was a tall man with long brown hair hurrying to a building that lay centered in the row of dilapidated structures. His green robe swayed as his gait hastened to the door. He spread his hand out and muttered a quiet phrase. The woodened door creaked open and the man ducked inside.

"The situation, is it really that dire?" A short balding wizard asked the visitor. He waved his hand and two cups of Oolong tea appeared.

"Ay. The thing we feared may soon come to light." Snow disappeared from the visitor's garments with a simple spell.

"Surely not. We were assured that it was all hearsay." He slammed his tea down on a table. Suddenly, it didn't taste so sweet.

"'fraid naught. While this order was largely ignored-abandoned really, after You-Know-Who's demise, at least one of his followers obeyed."

A single slip of parchment appeared with a pop and floated down. The balding wizard took it and his eyes enlarged as he read.

"How can this be, with Dumbledore to back him up?"

" I do not know but we are legally required to inform him of this development."

"Yes certainly-in normal circumstances-but really, is he worthy enough to be a father?"

"Who is the child?"

"The parchment does not say-it only reads that he indeed donated.

The older wizard shook his head as he waved his wand. "Accio regulations scroll." A hefty roll of parchment flew into the air and unrolled itself. The man ran a wrinkled finger over it until he came to a particular section.

"It says here in article F.123 that 'any clinical worker who interferes with due process of law shall have his or her magic revoked and a stint in Azkaban prison. ' Do you really want to risk those consequences?"

"Well, we cannot ascertain the identity of the child thus bringing that rule to moot."

SESESESE

Harry had finally calmed. Severus didn't want to admit it-in fact he would bloody well deny it, but he'd been worried. He had seen the fear in the child's emerald eyes as the boy tried to process the impossible. He had thought that the child calmed earlier but that was only until the fear had foisted another bout of panic in the child. Severus stroked the Gryffindor's head as the professor pondered the young wizard's dilemma.

He knew that Harry didn't believe that he was paralyzed and that concerned him. His student was in denial, there was no questioning that. Denial was only to be expected but Severus knew it was not healthy. If Harry did not accept his situation, then emotional healing would never begin. For the moment though, all Severus could do to help the child was to distract him. The rehabilitation witch was scheduled to arrive soon to talk through the therapies and other life-altering help Harry would receive.

Severus thought back to his boyhood days and what had interested him when he had wanted to escape life's worries. Potions for sure had been an escape but not practical in Harry's situation. What other activity had he fallen to? The potion's master thought back to the recent days. The Gryffindor child had loved hearing The Christmas Carol. Books might be an option, perhaps something with adventure, knowing the mischievous eleven year-old. Severus was not sure if the child liked to read but it was worth a shot.

SESESESE

"Mione it's been days since we've seen Harry! We need to find him; he could have gotten in trouble! Probably that Greasy Git found him sneaking around at night and chopped him into potions' ingredients!" Ron whined as the two first years watched the roaring fire in the floo.

"Ronald, relax, Harry probably was only summoned home to spend Christmas with his muggle relatives." Hermione reasoned.

"Then that's even worse than the Slytherin snake." Ron muttered as he looked away, unwilling to meet his companion's eyes.

"Pardon?" Hermione hadn't heard of the Dursley's treatment of their nephew.

"Never mind. Let's just go find him." Ron stood and held out an arm to pull Hermione up. Hermione allowed him but as she stood she froze.

"Ron, remember when we tried to leave earlier? We weren't allowed to leave the tower!" A frown drew on her face. "If only there was a way for us to get by the tower stairs. Then again, the castle is so huge we may never find Harry!"

Ron blinked at his friend and then turned on his heel. He ran up the stairs to the boys' dormitories.

SESESESE

A few minutes later Ron returned with two familiar redheads. The two twins were grinning slightly as if they knew some terrific secret, but were concerned for their honorary brother. One of them-even Ron had difficulty in telling them apart-waved the two first years over closer to them.

"Ronnie-"Ron grimaced-"told us you needed a way to escape the tower-"

"-without encountering the charm placed on the stairs"

"-and without being caught by any persons who may and try to deter you"

"We have the perfect item for your perusal." The twins finished together.

One, Fred, Ron finally decided, dug into his deep robe pocket. "This is your answer to your prayers. It will show you within the castle anyone-

"-at any time" broke in George.

"How's that?" Hermione peered closer to the folded parchment. "It's blank!"

"Ay, but not for those who know the secrets of this spare bit of parchment." Fred held it out to the young lioness.

"To get it to work-"

"hold it out and say"

"I solemnly swear-"

"I am up to no good!"

At once the blank parchment bled with black ink. The liquid spider-webbed until words appeared on the outside folds.

"Messrs. Moony, Wormtail, Padfoot, and Prongs  
Purveyors of Aids to Magical Mischief-Makers are proud to present  
THE MARAUDER'S MAP"

"We don't know who these people are but they are brilliant!" George exclaimed as he took the map from his twin. "Open it and look what happens."

George unfolded the parchment and to the first years' surprise a map of Hogwarts stared back at them. All throughout the picture were dots with little flags.

Hermione narrowed her eyes. "Those flags are names of people in the castle!"

"You got it in one. Use this to find Harry and to avoid teachers and other unpleasant sorts. George and I use this little artifact to avoid whomever we want to. It also shows halls and tunnels you otherwise might miss." Fred shrugged.

"So this map can help us find Harry?" Ron in awe looked for his mate's name. "There it is; he's in the hospital wing!"

His momentary glee at locating Harry was swallowed by another thought.

"We still don't know how to go to visit him!"

George slightly chuckled. "See the little brick on the paper in the Gryffindor common room?" He placed his finger on it to ensure his brother and friend would notice it. "It has a tunnel –"he traced the tunnel-"you just have to say the phrase, 'Daniel freed from lions' den.' Dunno what the phrase means exactly, but it'll do the trick."

By this time, Fred had walked to the brick in the real common room and was kneeling in front of it. The trio followed him and crouched down.

"I'll stay here and be prepared to create a diversion. I think George should go with you on your first trip out."

"Sure you don't mind brother dear?" George's voice was sickly sweet.

"Ha. I know when I'm not wanted," he kidded. "Three's company but four's a crowd." He smirked to show he was truly wasn't upset. Besides Dingbat, I'm the brains of this here operation!"

"We'll be sure to blame you if anything goes wrong!" Ron eyed his older brothers.

"Alright then. Daniel freed from lions' den." Hermione cut in before things could get out of hand.

The brick wiggled and turned about, settling on its short side. Creaking and a puff of smoke followed and the brick had formed a handle for the door that had appeared in the wall. George was the first to enter the little hallway.

"Well are you coming?"

Mute, the two first years followed.

SESESESE

Severus glanced at Harry, who was currently reading a book that he had loaned the child, The Adventures of Tom Sawyer, a favorite of his from his childhood. The Slytherin was currently waiting for the floo to connect to Healer Linda, who would be overseeing Harry's rehabilitation. He really hoped that the young Gryffindor child would not be crushed as he learned to accept things would be different now. It was always a bitter potion to swallow when someone learned that their life was forever changed. A child on the brink of adolescence would find it even harder to accept. Perhaps that Gryffindor spirit would help the lad cope.

A crackling drew his attention to the floo.

"Greetings Madame Linda, thank you for your prompt response."

"You are quite welcome Professor. I was notified earlier of your rather unique situation and I would be honored to assist in therapy. Shall I come through?"

"Yes, please."

"Certainly, I shall be through in a moment, I need to gather some supplies."

"Thank you."

Thankful that the conversation was completed, he stole a glimpse at his ward. He would have never guessed that the boy liked to read but Harry was pouring into the book. It was nice to see Harry laughing, so carefree even for a moment. Severus hated to interrupt him but he had to. "Harry."

"Yes, sir. . .Severus?" Severus moved closer to the Gryffindor so Harry would not be tempted to try and look around.

"The healer, Madam Linda will be stepping through the floo in just a moment. I thought it best for you to be prepared." Severus explained as he took the book offered by the young boy. He set the classic on the nightstand and then helped the child shift position on the bed.

"Thank you." There wasn't any more time for idle conversation as the floo roared to life and a lady with deep red long hair stepped out. With freckles on her nose and no wrinkles present, she looked to be in her mid-twenties.

"Hello Harry, Severus." She greeted as she walked over to the hospital bed. "My name is LeAnn Linda, but you can just call me LeAnn. I hear you want to escape this bed, eh?" She asked the eleven year-old.

"Yes." Harry quietly quipped, his demeanor radically changed from the carefree boy he'd been when reading about Tom Sawyer.

"Good, because ninety-nine percent of your freedom depends on you." The young healer bubbled with enthusiasm .

Severus only hoped the child wouldn't crash and burn when he finally accepted he'd never walk again. Only time would tell. The potion master looked at the child again. He didn't want to miss any information regarding Harry's treatment.

However, as if to mock him, a sharp sledgehammer of pain tore through his head. He blinked and tried to avoid the temptation of letting the pain encompass him and pass out. A slight pop was heard and a little female house elf stood in front of him.

"Pardon me." Severus apologized and stood up to face the elf.

"Harry, I shall return momentarily." Before the Slytherin walked off, he heard Harry asking about the elf but in order to keep his word and not be gone long he forced himself to follow the elf.

"Yes Annie?" The man questioned as they stood in a little room off to the side of the main hospital wing. With silence and other privacy wards up the tiny elf glanced up at him.

"Annie's here sir to inform Master Severus of peculiar news." The elf shifted and glanced at her feet.

"Yes, and what of it?" the potions' master willed himself to be patient.

Elves were accustomed to maltreatment and though he was always kind to the elf, she was inherently nervous.

"A charm yous had me place twelve years 'go has activated, sir." She stared up with eyes as big as saucers.

She snapped her boney fingers and a little scroll appeared.

Severus drew in a breath. He could only think of one time that he had asked Annie to place a charm on something. His hands trembled and he swallowed. Sweaty potion-stained fingers took the scroll.

This parchement signifies Severus Donavan Snape's desire to be informed of essential matters related to any daughters or sons his sperm donated in 1979 produced.

It is hereby announced that the minor child you willingly fathered is in dire circumstances. Upon your request to be notified of such a situation, you receive this scroll. A charm was placed on the phial of the specimen and has now activated to reveal the identity of said minor. By reading further, you accept the responsibilities, whatever they may be, for your offspring. To decline any paternal duties read no further and your magic will signal a refusal of duties and your parental rights will be forfeited.

Severus blinked. He recalled that in recent history there had been a dream-induced memory of him donating. However, Harry had needed him and the man had pushed the memory to the side. He was almost afraid to read further as he had more or less assumed responsibility for the raven-haired child. How was he supposed to take care of two children? He wasn't even sure of what one child would need since he didn't know anything about his son or daughter. Let alone the circumstances that had caused the scroll to appear to him. A slight tapping of a foot startled him. Annie stood glaring at him.

"Me thinks Master should read the rest of the scroll sir." She seemed to remember her fear, "If sir wants to, that is."

She gave a squeak and hunched her neck between her shoulders.

Severus knew he had to. There was no question, not really. He was obligated and he tried to never break his word. So gulping he read on.

Sex of Offspring: male

Current age of Offspring: eleven

Current Full Name of Offspring: Haran James Potter Snape

The world spun. Harry was his SON?


	9. Seasonal Decisions

Harry was his son! What were the odds that Severus donated his sperm only for it to be used by James Potter! And Lily, he reminded himself. Anything for Lily. This news changed everything yet nothing of how Severus now thought of the raven-hair Gryffindor. The past several days had changed not only Severus’ opinion of the child but had slowly begun to crack the iron-wrought walls of his heart. No, he’d never would be considered cheerful, but perhaps less cruel.   
Severus shock himself into the present. Harry needed him and his therapy was paramount. Truth be told, he didn’t know if he should ever break the news to the child. He couldn’t imagine that the most Gryffindor of Gryffindors would take well to the news that he was the progeny of the Slytherin snake. Little of that mattered now, it was past time the both of them to face the music as it were, and see what the immediate future was for the child. Steeling himself, he headed towards the door where the young boy sat awaiting his fate.   
“Do Pardon me Madam, for the matter was unavoidable and could not be put until later.” Severus excused himself with a polite nod towards the woman.   
“Oh, no matter dearie,” Severus cringed at that, “We understood perfectly, right poppet?” She smiled at Harry. The boy shyly bit his lip and nodded his assent.   
“As I stated earlier, my name is Madam Linda but you are welcome to call me LeAnn if you so like.” She smiled at both wizards in turn. “I took the liberty of perusing your file earlier and have come up with some suggestions. I will say from the start that at eleven years old, I think that you should be given some say in your treatment. Some, mind, because you are still a minor, but enough for you to own it. Recovering from injury always does better when one is willing to do whatever it takes. Any questions so far?”   
“No” Harry murmured as he glanced at Snape. The Slytherin shook his head and gestured for the witch to continue.   
“First, my team and I think that while Hogwarts is an excellent school, it’s not conductive for long term healing-“  
“You mean, I have to leave Hogwarts?!?” Harry cried out. Hogwarts was his home! He could not and WOULD NOT return to the Dursley’s! “Please, I’ll be quiet and not disrupt anyone! I can’t leave-“ His emotions were rattled from the different concoctions of potions he was drugged under.   
Both LeAnn and Severus put an arm on the child while the Slytherin glared at the witch. She gulped as she rushed to finish, “Child, I didn’t mean that you had to leave it for good, just while we did therapy is all! You’ll get to come back! I’m sorry I didn’t make that clear.” She tried to appease the child. . .and the man currently trying to test his “Instant Death Glare.”   
“I, that is, my team and I, think that it would be better to have the therapy in a location that would provide peace, some relaxation for between therapies, and fun. While Hogwarts is definitely fun, we came up with a better place. And it’s not even at a hospital. Most if not all, your therapy can be set up to do where we scouted. But, as I said, we’ll only do this if you both agree.”  
Severus pondered. It would be nice to get away from the daily frustrations of Hogwarts and get to know his son better. However to leave the school would mean a chance of Severus’ old “friends” resurfacing with no Dumbledore to intervene. Not to mention, the child needed his friends. If he hadn’t known that the child spent most days drugged to the gills, he’d had questioned why the boy had not asked for them to visit. Come to think of it, he wondered why his friends hadn’t sneaked off by now and tried to visit Harry. Then he remembered there had been guards and at one time an enchantment to keep the students at bay after the accident. He somehow did not think that would deter them for long. One thing that he had to admit about Gryffindors was that They. Never. Gave. Up. Ever. Most of the time this was to his annoyance but perhaps it would work in his favor now. No matter if he didn’t want to play babysitter to a bunch of snot-nose children, it was better to let them have some access willingly or try to stop a lot of effort relentlessly. And, if Harry and he did indeed depart Hogwarts, his son would need the support of his friends before he left.   
“As I was saying-“damn, he’d been caught daydreaming, something that he rarely if ever did. “My team and I thought it best to have your therapy done elsewhere. We belong to a group titled “Healers United International” and have therapeutic homes all along the world. I have taken the liberty to make arrangements at two locales and you get to choose which one. With your understandable security needs, we have narrowed it down to one in Australia and the other in the United States. Neither country was involved in You-Know-Who’s reign of terror so they will be safe havens. I can give you a little time to decide, however the sooner the decision, the better.”   
Severus was gob smacked, they would have to move far away for an undeterminable amount of time, an opportunity that could either be very good or devastatingly bad for the child. He studied Harry’s face, emerald eyes stood out on a pasty pale face. “Harry, it will be all right.” Severus was all too aware that the stress the child was under would traumatize an adult, let alone an eleven year-old. The Slytherin considered himself useless in emotional situations, but it was his duty, his honor to help Harry. That included his emotional needs, not just his physical ones. Right now, that included soothing him.   
“I know it will.” His son had his jaw set, his blank eyes betraying his words. He was fooling no one but Severus well understood the need to build walls in front of others.   
“There’s more I need to talk to you about, but all that can wait until your decision on the therapy locale.” LeAnn slightly smiled as she ran a tentative hand in the Gryffindor’s hair. “Severus, may I talk to you in the other room?” The Slytherin smiled at his son and followed the witch out.  
“Professor, I will be honest with you. As you know, there is little to no chance that Harry will ever be cured-“Severus nodded, he already knew this-“but his therapy will make a huge difference in his quality of life. I know that you have taken over Harry’s care. I also realize that you are typically a private person but I ask that you seek permission from Harry’s mates parents to allow them a visit or two in which ever place you and Harry choose.” Severus nodded again, he had already decided to allow this.   
“Well, with that, I’ll make my goodbye. Firecall me within a day to your decision, we need to confirm travel arrangements.”  
Severus nodded again and turned on his heel to face his child again.  
His son was laying in his bed, his eyes cast on the ceiling yet if Severus was to ask him what he was staring at, the head of Slytherin was sure he would not know.   
“Child,” Severus rubbed his arm, “Harry, it will all work out. I know you are under a lot of pressure, and I know it will be hard to leave Hogwarts, but it’s only for a little while. Also, your diagnosis is not the end of the world. Is it going to be a lot of work, and hard days? Yes, but you will survive it. I have faith in you.”  
Harry just nodded. Pain was radiating across his face so Severus silently dosed him with a pain potion.   
“Thanks sir” Harry stammered, his voice slightly slurred due to the immediate acting potion.   
“And Severus, if it’s ok with you, where I want to go.”

SESESESESESESESESESESESESESESESESESESESESESESESESESESESESESESESESESESESESESESE

The moon shone brightly in the hospital wing, creating shadows in the dark. Light thuds echoed almost inaudibly. “Harry!”   
The raven haired child stirred. “Huh?” His foggy mind cleared, “Hermione! Ron and one of the twins…George?!?”   
“What happened mate?” Ron asked as he looked sheepishly at his friend. “I’m very sorry for our fight. I’ll ask again, what the hell happened?!?”   
“-Ron!” Hermione broke in over the language.   
“Yeah, Ronnie, mummy wouldn’t approve would she?” George asked, smirking as he obviously tried to deflect the tension.  
“Well, it’s like this-“ Harry told his story to the other Gryffindors. None of the four knew Severus was watching in the shadows. He’d forgive them of their out of bounds during the night, they were there for his son and that was paramount.   
SESESESESESESESESESESESESESESESESESESESESESESESESESESESESESESESE

Early the next morning, Severus kneeled at the floor. “Madam Leann Linda.”   
A minute later he was connected, “We’ve made our decision.”


	10. Deck the Halls in. . .

“We’ve made our decision. We chose Australia.” Severus stated to the healer. He looked at his son in confirmation and Harry agreed. “It’s summertime there now, and much warmer than the United State’s winter.” Severus reasoned with Healer Linda. 

The witch nodded and drew her wand in a circle in the fire. A scroll appeared out of the air and floated in front of the Slytherin. The Potions Master reached and grabbed it. He read the message and nodded. “That’ll be fine. Good day.” He bid his goodbye to the Healer who nodded and cut the connection. Then he turned to his son. “Harry, I’ll tell you the exact location when we arrive at the destination. The walls here have ears and like to gossip with their mouths. “Indeed, several portraits were awake and not even bothering to look like they weren’t holding onto every word. 

“Well if you want to be that way!” A large woman spat, blaring at the Slytherin with angry painted eyes. 

“Yes, I do say! Young people these day, they don’t know how to treat their elders!” An old wizard in a sleeping cap answered, shaking his fist at Severus. 

“Be quiet or I shall cast a silencing spell that will even work on paintings!” Severus snarled. “I’m sorry about that Harry.” He looked at his fatigued son, “I will summon your friends, we need to leave in a few hours.” 

“So soon?” Harry softly asked, worry clouding his face.

“The sooner that we leave, the sooner we arrive and we have got quite the journey to undertake. “ Severus’ face softened, “we’ll also have to take alternate routes and methods of traveling as you are. . .indisposed at the moment. Your recovery is paramount.” 

“Yes sir. I understand.” Harry hated sounding like a weakling and he missed his spunk that he typically wore as armor. He had no energy for pretending between being hurt and the mind numbing potions he was prescribed.   
“Will you all right while I go and fetch Granger and the Weasley’s?” Severus didn’t want to overload the lad but didn’t want him to feel like he was being abandoned either. A thin line to walk was before him as he began to embrace his surprising paternity. It didn’t help matters that he had treated the child horribly from the moment Harry walked into his Potions’ classroom. 

“Yes sir, I’ll be fine.” Harry answered dully. He cast his eyes down and Severus knew that the boy didn’t really want to be alone but would cooperate for his sake. 

“I’ll be back momentarily. If you need anything, Madam Pomfry is just inside her office.” Severus felt his lips turn upwards in what he recognized as a long forgotten smile. “I will get you friends. I’ll try not to scare them-too unnecessarily.” He promised as he exited the Hospital Ward. 

~~SE~~

True to his word, Severus was only gone for a maximum of fifteen minutes. A fact that Harry found oddly comforting. And to the Gryffindor’s delight, he had truly come back with his closest mates. Of course, Harry, supposed that they would have created a mutiny if they learned he took off to a different country-a different CONTINENT-without so much as a “goodbye!”! It was probably safer for the school to allow his friends to visit him while in the Hospital Wing. Harry had already learned that the twins could be quite persistent deviants when it came to getting their way for a cause. Somehow, he didn’t doubt that if they wanted to, they would even find a way to track and follow him into Australia with Ron and Hermione in tow. Harry guessed that the girl’s resolve for following school rules could be easily broken as she had already demonstrated in the past couple of months. 

“Hey mate! We heard you’re going to Australia!” Ron greeted as he sat down on the edge of his friend’s bed. “Charlie went once and he said, and I quote, that he had the ‘most awesome time mate!’ And did you know Australia used to be the place where the British would dump their criminals!” The eleven-year old redhead certainly knew the amusing facts of a place. “And that it’s the summer there!” Ron bounced on the bed slightly. He was concerned for his friend definitely, but he couldn’t help feel excited for him-maybe he’d get to visit his mate there. “And I heard the surfing is awesome-“ Three pairs of elbows ambushed him. “What?” Ron asked, uncertain as to why he was being attacked. 

“Ron-oh never mind!” Hermione threw her hands in the air, looking very much as exasperated as she felt.   
Even if his friend didn’t get the point of the attack, Harry certainly did. He bit his lip and then forced his lips into a small smile. “It’s ok guys. He didn’t mean anything by it. Plus, he’s right, surfing is supposed to be prime there! My family went once and Dudley bragged that he had the time of his life. I don’t know how he was able to surf; I’d figure he’d break the board and the wave!” Harry snarked as he recalled the vacation his relatives had taken but had left him with the “cat lady.” 

As he hoped, all three of his friends burst out laughing, having been shown a picture of his cousin, and even he could spot Severus smirking in the corner. At least the man didn’t look like he wanted to stun and fry Ron into a crisp anymore as he had moments earlier. 

The three friends chatted for another hour before Severus reluctantly approached Harry. “It’s time we were off. House elves have already sent our belongings to the coach we’ll use to leave Hogwarts. “ Harry looked at his friends.

“I guess this is it, then. I’ll see you guys-“he paused, “I’ll see you guys later.” He finished. Now that the time had come, he felt an odd feeling fluttering in his chest. It took a moment for him to realize it was being homesick already. He had never longed for his home, because the house he grew up in wasn’t home and he never missed it. 

The friends said their byes and slowly walked to the door. Harry wondered, briefly, if they would miss him as much as he would miss them. He didn’t know how that would be possible; he knew he’d never been missed. Ron and Hermione did seem like genuine friends-even if Ron got hotheaded at times and Hermione was a bit of a know-it-all, they were the closest thing that the Gryffindor had to friends. And the twins, George and Fred, were every bit the big goofy brothers, or at least the closest things that Harry had as brothers. He wouldn’t dare consider the bully Dudley to be a friend let alone a brother. 

“I’m ready,” he stated to Severus when he saw the man staring at him. Huh, he must have dazed off into space again. The man nodded and drew his wand. A moment later Madam Pomfry came out of her office and handed Severus a large bag that he proceeded to stuff various potions, tubing and extra braces, among other things into. Strangely, the bag never got full. Harry watched as the man incanted a softly spoken Latin spell and the bag shrank to the size of a button. 

“Thank you Madam Pomfry.” Severus intoned as he nodded to the Mediwitch. He incanted another softly spoken spell that Harry couldn’t quite hear well enough to decipher what language it was spoken in. A stretcher floated in midair to the group. You’ll ride out in this, but I took the liberty to make it and myself, invisible to any onlookers. I supposed that you wouldn’t want to be seen be taken out on stretcher. Plus it gives the added safety of not allowing those who would do you harm to see you leave.” Severus explained. “Ready?” Harry gave his consent, not knowing what he was consenting to, but trusting the man. He noticed that his sheets wrapped around him as he floated in midair to softly land on the stretcher. His medical tubing trailed along and came to a rest on top of his stomach. 

With a final nod to the Mediwitch, Severus stood up and trailed after the stretcher that had secured Harry onto it with a sticking spell. 

They passed invisibly through the halls of the castle, passing, at times, through crowded hallways but due to the spell, never being detected. Harry found that he rather liked the change of not being recognized. It was a luxury that he rarely received any longer. 

Before too long, they were outside. A coach was waiting for them, just as Severus had promised. The stretcher that held Harry slid into the coach and Severus followed it. Severus muttered something seemingly into the air and the coach took off and soared into the sky. 

Harry couldn’t help but being excited. “Australia, here we come.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> A/N Blah! Sorry that this took so long in getting out. I’ve been working on other stories (check out my fanfiction account for more information)-yay! And was diagnosed with Rheumatoid Arthritis earlier this year and typing can be difficult on bad days-boo! Anyways, I know that this update is on the short side, but that being said, I hope that you enjoyed it, I’m going to try writing shorter chapters more often because with my work schedule and RA management, that has been working with another genre I’ve been writing for. I would love to hear your thoughts on the chapter and the decision to complete rehab in Australia. I have some fun stuff coming up later dealing with that. Someone even makes a cameo. I should have another chapter of “Normal Isn’t Normal” up soon. I was going to update that one tonight, but decided that SE had been neglected long enough. J


	11. Chapter 11

Australia. The pair of wizards had finally arrived in the so-called “Land Down Under.” It had been a relatively easy flight with Harry having slept most of the journey. For that, Severus was glad. Not that he minded the young boy-his son!-but he knew that the Gryffindor desperately needed sleep for his healing to truly begin. No, it was unlikely that Harry would ever regain the ability to walk, but the Slytherin wanted to give every chance to his son to be able to move past his disability. Even if Harry never regained the use of his legs, he could still live. Still thrive. He would just need to learn how to do so.

Severus hoped that the warm weather, the new surroundings, would help his son. Though he knew that Harry had been loath to tell him, and, Severus was sure that he had not revealed everything, what he had learned had shocked him. Oh, there was so much that Severus Snape had thought the Golden Boy to be but it wasn’t true. None of it was true. He wasn’t the arrogant show-off that James had been; he didn’t belittle others, deeming them beneath him like James had. In fact, he wasn’t even James’ son. 

The Slytherin wanted to tell Harry about discovery of his parentage, but would that be the thing that would break his son? The last thing that Severus wanted to do was to damage his already hurt son. He knew though, Harry would have to find out though, and it would be better coming from him than from anyone else. For now though, Snape would settle for taking care of Harry. Something he should have been doing from the start.

The child in question began to stir. Severus moved towards the now visible floating stretcher that Harry had ridden on during the flight. “Hello Harry.” He greeted the eleven year-old with a whisper, wishing not to disturb the child as he awoke in a strange surrounding.

Harry blinked up at his teacher and turned his attention on the man. “Hi.” He paused for a moment and then, “Are we there yet?”

Severus had to laugh at the often asked of muggle or wizarding child alike. “Yes, we reached Australia a couple of hours ago. We just reached the home we are staying in.” He explained as he cast an “Alohomora” on the door and then several protection spells. “Once we are indoors, I can transfer you to a wheelchair so that you can _calmly_ explore the house.” The Potions Master thought it was best to allow the child an outlet for his natural curiosity but only if the child could keep from being wild.

“Really? Thanks!” Harry thanked his teacher. Severus could tell that the Gryffindor, despite knowing that Severus wasn’t the Dungeon Bat anymore, hadn’t been expecting that he could actually explore!

Severus allowed a small smile to grace his face, “Certainly, we will be here for some time, you may as well see what there is to offer. Perhaps after dinner, if you are up to it, we can get some fresh air outside.” He offered, knowing that news would really make his son happy.

Harry’s eyes grew even wider. “I’d really like that. Could we go down to the beach, you know, not to get into the water or anything, but just to watch the waves?

“If you still feel like it after dinner, I don’t see why not. We are only five minutes away from the beach. The sunset would be most amazing there.” Severus reasoned. Most students or rather anyone he’d ever met, probably would not have taken the Slytherin as the type to enjoy nature’s beauty, but the truth was, he enjoyed every moment of it. There was no more awe-inspiring site as such as an ocean with its rhythmic waves crashing onto the sands of the beach. He hadn’t been to many oceans in his youth, but he thoroughly enjoyed them. He was glad that they were able to get a house so close to the secluded beach as he hoped it would bring Harry the same joy it had brought him.

“Yeah!” Harry whooped as he allowed Severus to aid him into the wheelchair. All evidence of sleepiness had worn off of the child as the prospect of having a fun day appealed to him.

“I’ll be arranging some matters, just send me a blue flashing light with your wand-“Severus demonstrated how to-“if you need me. Otherwise you can find me in this room-“ he gestured to an room with an open door. It was clearing designed with its solid oak furnishings to be an office. “Do not hesitate to interrupt me.”

                                                                                                                  SESESESESESE

Harry couldn’t believe his luck! Even though the Slytherin teacher had definitely become a much nicer man than he was just a short while ago, the Gryffindor certainly never expected that he’d be allowed to explore, or to even interrupt him. Then again, circumstances had definitely changed for him. He’d never expect to be wheelchair bound either. Maybe it wouldn’t be permanent. He knew everyone, even if they didn’t say it, expected that he’d never walk again. But then again, everyone expected the killing curse to be lethal, and well, just look at him. If anyone could beat the odds, maybe he could, with Snape’s-Severus! He corrected himself, help.

He slowly wheeled through the halls. Thankfully Severus had taught him a self-moving spell since with a broken arm, he couldn’t push the chair by himself. After the spell was set up, all Harry had to do would be to direct the chair, “forward, stop, left, right” and other simple commands and the chair would comply. As he traversed through the halls of royal blue painted walls and wooded floors, he came across a room with a set of oak double doors. Curiously, since all the other doors had been single ones, he commanded the doors to open and he rolled inside. Inside was a small hallway with a room to the left and further down , another door. The last door, he noticed wasn’t wood like the others, but rather a glass door. He got closer to the room and realized with delight that it contained a large indoor pool. He attempted to open the door but after his spell, a floating message written in red appeared.                                                                                                    

_No Minor admittance allowed, except when accompanied by an adult._

 

Drat. Well, maybe Severus would come with him sometime. Harry had learned that even wheelchair bound people could still enjoy pools and many people even found therapy in them. Hopefully his therapists would be believers in this.

Harry turned to go and realized the room he’d seen previously was a changing room on closer inspection. Soon, he was back in the first hallway. He was about to explore another hallway when he spotted his teacher walking to him. “Dinner is ready.”

Within no time, the pair was enjoying a lovely dinner of lemon-baked grilled chicken, fresh string beans and carrots with a chocolate torte for dessert. Once the meal had been eaten and the dishes had been set to cleaning themselves, Severus turned to Harry.

“Do you feel like watching the sunset out at the beach tonight still?” He asked his son.

Harry beamed in response that was an obvious agreement to the idea. “We should have a nice view. It’s a pretty secluded area, so there won’t be many people around and you can enjoy the sunset.” His teacher informed him.

Soon both teacher and student were ready and making their way to the ocean. Just as Severus had said, it was a very short trip to the ocean. Also, like the Slytherin had thought, there wasn’t a crowd of people there. In fact, only one lone person was at the beach. A boy that looked to be Harry’s age paddled through the water on a surf board. Harry sat back watching the child. He seemed to be a natural at surfing, catching wave after wave expertly.

The boy finally looked up as the sky began to change into brilliant oranges and reds. He seemed to notice the other pair after a moment. Harry could tell the boy was trying to decide something. After a moment of apparent self-debating, the boy left the water and took his board and walked to them. Harry noticed that the boy had longish blond hair, was very skinny and had green eyes, similar to his. He also noticed his teacher looking up from the chair he had brought with him and watching the boy with caution. His hand went to his other wrist and Harry knew he was fingering his wand.

“Hi, my name’s Robert Chase. Most people just call me Chase though.” He greeted them. He didn’t seem uncomfortable with Harry’s wheelchair nor did he seem threatening in any way. Harry knew his teacher was starting to relax.

“Hi. Mine’s Harry.” He didn’t give his last name. It was so nice to be somewhere and not be known as Harry Potter. ‘Potter’ was the only thing most people saw. “And that’s “Professor Snape.” He introduced his teacher, unsure of what the other boy should call the man.

“Oh, hello Professor Snape.” Chase greeted with a firm handshake. The boy obviously had grown up with a formal background.

“Hello Mr. Chase.” Severus seemed unable to talk informally to anyone other than Harry. At least, Harry thought, ‘He wasn’t being the Dungeon Bat’ to the kid. His teacher continued, “Mr. Chase, you seem awfully young to be at an ocean by yourself, where are your parents?”

“Oh, I’ve been coming by myself for years.” The boy eluded the question about his parents.

Chase smiled at the Potions Master and then quietly looked from Harry to Severus.

“You’re wizards too.”


End file.
